Unnecessary Lesson 1: Don't Fuck With Thermometers

I've had plenty of accidents over the years which, to put things mildly, could have been avoided. By this, I mean that I actually had to go to reasonable lengths to cause the accidents, doing nothing would have neatly sidestepped the problem. This unfortunately moves us slightly outside the conventional definition of "accident", but I'll ignore this and move on.

After a quiet drink or six one Saturday afternoon, myself and GB returned to our house to relax in our own unique ways. I lay on my sofa, chain smoking cigarettes and staring angrily at the wall. GB commenced one of his favourite hobbies, an eight hour scat porn fest using only my laptop and a 56k modem.

I shortly grew weary of my chosen activity and began a search for alternatives. For some reason, I came across an alcohol based thermometer sitting innocently in my room. Looking at the expansion tank at the top, starting just after the magical temperature of 110°C had been passed gave me an idea. A bad idea, in all honesty. What would happen when the expansion tank became full? Would the pressure produced be enough to crack the thermometer? Was the alcohol inside drinkable? I resolved to carry out a controlled experiment.

Holding the thermometer in one hand and my lighter in another, I gently applied heat to the bulb. The liquid quickly rushed up to the level of the expansion tank. Removing the heat caused the level indicator to separate into small blobs of red stuff. Reasoning that the thermometer was now broken, I started the experiment in earnest.

Approximately 10 seconds of direct heat to the thermometer later, the experiment took an exciting turn. The thermometer exploded with a reasonably loud bang and shards of glass averaging 2/3mm in length flew out in its place with a surprising amount of force. Fortunately, much of this glass was stopped from causing damage to the walls, furniture and windows by my right hand.

When GB arrived to see what the noise was about, I was still picking bits of glass out of myself. One piece in particular was proving difficult, slippery with blood and deep in the flesh right next to the base of the nail on my thumb. GB took one look at me and fell around laughing. A look in a nearby mirror confirmed the reason why.

The flying glass had been far from limited to my hand, as I had previously thought. There was a piece in my forehead just above my right eyebrow. A decent sized sliver had hit my lip and made this it's new home. Yet another was stuck fast in my left cheek. Blood was running freely from these wounds (as it will with head injuries), leaving my face smeared with red, as I'd rubbed the "itchy" spots.

The alcohol seemed to vaporise the second it left the thermometer too. With hindsight, I was lucky to be wearing glasses and not blinded as a result. Also with hindsight, it was not a good idea to hold a lighter to a thermometer to see what happens when it's pressure release (or in other words, safety) system is overloaded.

Still, as they say, you learn something new everyday. It's just in many examples, I shouldn't need to.

You Only Get One Chance To Make A First Impression

Being a bad drunk will allow you to meet, confuse and intimidate new people on an almost daily basis. Often, the chance meetings of strangers will lead to an amusing drunken conversation, the occasional fight and nothing more.

Sometimes, however, the unfortunate person to meet drunk Peter will be a friend of a friend, sister, aunt or other hanger-on. This means that I get to hear about my misbehaviours rather than being allowed to happily forget them.

For example, one acquaintance always brings up my comments to him the first time we met. Apparently, I initiated a discussion as to how many people would, were they to have their faces peeled off, turn out to be robots underneath.

This isn't that bad a topic, excepting the context. The query was segued nicely into a discussion we were having about football. I then asserted that I suspected everyone but myself to be robots and that I intended to solve the problem once and for all. I then disappeared (to the toilet) leaving PR to worry whether I was about to return with a fish knife and start my investigation.

Another friend once claimed to be extremely tired and sleepy after an extended bout of daytime drinking. I did not find myself with this problem, devoted as I am to Vodka Red Bulls. Allegedly, I looked this poor unfortunate as squarely in the eye as one can after six hours of drinking and said

"If you fall asleep now, I 100 percent fucking guarantee that you won't wake up."

He believed me and the drinking continued. Mission accomplished.

Another tricky time is when groups of people with only 1 friend in common meet. These tribes can be of surprisingly different worldviews. Myself and SB were once tasked with distracting our friend DW whilst preparations were made for his surprise birthday party. The natural way to do this was to retire for a few celebratory drinks in our local. DW also brought along one of his presents for show and tell - a swiss army knife cunningly hidden in a credit card.

Discussion quickly turned to how sharp said knife was. Three hours later when we returned (a little later than expected) to the party the other guests were in for something of a shock. The "other" friends, really comprising of "colleagues" jumped out to see me, DW and SB all swaying slightly, myself with blood running fairly freely down my arm.

Myself and SB were in good form at this point. After explaining to various people that SB had cut my arm, I proceeded to detail just how pissed off with him I was, as he had spilt my pint, leading to a brief knife fight. At this moment SB decided to wave a two pronged barbeque fork in my face and I grabbed a kitchen knife as we squared up to each other. The other guests' expressions revealed they didn't quite get the "joke". When someone bravely intervened, SB decided the time for explanations had arrived - "It's OK. We always do this."

However, my greatest behaviour when meeting new people happened one night in town. Myself, SB and KP were well into our drinking when we bumped (likely literally) into a young couple, Sibs and Nips.

After a few hours chatting with this couple nothing really unusual had happened. KP was extremely fucked up, however and SB decided to take him home. I had other priorities and decided to stay. Yes, a couple of hours after meeting my "new friends" I decided to remain, effectively alone, so that I could drink further.

Within half an hour the inevitable unpleasantness occurred. Nips (the female of the couple) decided to visit the toilet. As she left, I bent over, and in full view of Sibs (obviously, the male), took a deep sniff of the stool she had recently vacated. Needless to say, this action took some explaining.

I can't remember what I claimed I was doing, but surprisingly managed to talk the situation out, without any serious consequence. Indeed, when I saw the pair again a few weeks later they approached me to drink with them. I had no idea who they were, of course, but they remembered me. Suffice to say, I made a lasting impression.

God Takes A Shot At Peter

A few weeks ago I woke up in a world of pain. My tongue was welded to the top of my mouth and the effort of tearing it free left me too weary to move. I remembered being pretty drunk, buying shooters at around midnight, then deciding to take it easy on such a "school night". The traditional fade to black was all that followed in my tattered memory.

Further pain clamoured for my attention. My right eye felt like someone had tried to put a cigarette out on it. This is not an experience I am new to, having managed this retard trick in the past. Blinking only exacerbated the problem. I resolved to lie still and try to take stock of the situation.

Opening my left eye revealed that all was not well and that I was unlikely to be popping into work that day. I could see (and feel) that I was fully dressed. I could also see (and feel) a pool of vomit on the bed next to my face, extending off the side and (I assumed) extending downwards to the floor.

The vomit started approximately where my face ended, allowing me to trace the cause of my ocular issues. I hadn't moved since I hit the bed in a happy drunken stupor. I had however, vomited where I lay and then slept with my eye happily dissolving in stomach acid and vodka.

I stumbled out of my room to discuss my sudden illness with the office. A short conversation later I returned, half-blind and two-thirds nauseous, to assess the damage to my room. I quickly realised that the puke decorating one side of my bed should in no way interrupt the extended period of sleep not going to work had provided me with. The other side of the bed, after all, was fine.

An enjoyable rest later, I arose around midday. My eye was still far from optimal; indeed opening it was far from a wise move. Surveying my room revealed another disturbing piece of my previous stomach contents - this one on the floor next to my bed. This was no surprise. What did concern me was the portion of my drinks which had landed on the four way power adapter next to my bed.

Every recovering alcoholic will tell you of the moment when they realised that things had to change. Whether it's stealing from their children for booze money, waking up missing a kidney, or just finding a dead tramp in your bed, every quitter can share their unique story of avoiding the alcohol event horizon.

For me, a near Jimi experience, almost choking to death on my own, or anyone else's puke, isn't nearly enough. I made my commitment to a (short) lifetime of drinking many years ago and I'm not backing down like a little girl over something like this. The same can be said of returning to a bed filled with chunder. After all, I'd already spent much of the night with the bed in this state - it's not that big a deal to continue doing so.

However, nearly electrocuting myself using vomit as a conductor is a different story. I can't face going out like that. I've decided to take much needed action and straighten a few things out. It's time for change and my eyes are open as to the way forward. Yes, that's right. I've unplugged the power adapter. Who the fuck needs an alarm clock and bedside lamp when they're too drunk to read anyways?

Fuck the "point of no return", fuck the so called "moment of clarity". Fuck "turning my life around", fuck "straightening up" and even fuck "flying right". I'll let you know what's on the other side when I get there.