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Expecting to be in the bar of a hotel, I was surprised to find that Sam had not just a room, but a goddam suite in the Hotel for our drinking pleasure. The window from which offered a brilliant aim at passing pedestrians, as I had earlier discovered. Some poor lady later got some garlic bread on her head.

Drinking slowly started, as more and more people arrived. Sam introduced me to the heaven that is Vanilla Vodka and Sprite. One of the most delicious drinks I’ve had in a long time.

Girls are loud. Damn loud. Fucking loud. It seems that they cannot possibly have a conversation at a normal volume, they must constantly speak louder than the person before, at least 40db louder than any guy there. Did I say speak? Replace that with screech. The absolute epiphany of pain. Just to say “try on my shoooooeeeesss”.

Us guys abandoned this horror for the solace of the hallway. Needless to say, the girls soon followed, screeching and tumbling out of the door. The poor person in the next room was not impressed asking us very firmly to keep it down. His endearment to us was not at all helped by the sight of drunken giggling girls on the floor, and was marked with a simple “Jesus Christ!”

Us guys quickly came to the conclusion that we needed to leave, we needed to get away from the screeching, the unceasing noise causing irreparable damage to our ears. We needed to go to town, and soon!

Thing was, we were not at all drunk enough yet. It was time to get drunk, and quick. The shots began, although Sam refused to have any. Unfortunately, it took us quite a while to finally leave, and due to the non-instant affect of shots, I ended up having far too many.

I was thoroughly, utterly, irrevocably gone, I was walking in large circles. I tried to sit down, but missed the bed and hit the floor. I couldn’t figure out how to open the bathroom door.

Of course, I also entered the “shouting stage” and put it to good use by yelling “Shut up!” at the still-screeching girls.

Finally, we were on our way. A trail of people making their way into town, me walking all over the place. In my drunken belligerence, and eagerness to get into town, I walked and walked and walked until I was quickly pulled out from in front of an oncoming car. At which point, realising just how drunk I was, I burst out laughing.

I had had far too much to drink. My walking was getting worse, my speech further and further impaired. And we hadn’t even gotten to town.

As it stands, I didn’t go into any clubs, not that I would ever have been let in by the bouncer in any case. At this stage, however, I thought I could pull off a sober look, but was prudent enough to give my ID to Jordan to look after. He still has it, actually. Still, it never got looked at. Jordan decided to get a Kebab, I followed him in.

The next thing I remember, I was bent over the toilet, my pants around my ankles, forcefully losing my dinner. Twice. My drunken mind was vaguely interested by the darkish colour of my vomit.

“Bro, you ok?” Jordan had once again come looking for me. “Yeah” (fucken right). He asked if I wanted to go, cos he was apparently tired. More like he knew that I needed to get home before I passed out. I agreed. Time to go.

I finished up in the toilets, and met him outside, and was once again sick in the gutter. He hailed a taxi, and the next thing I knew we were on our way back to my place. My eyes refused to focus and all I could see was blurry lights flashing by. I felt the remains of my dinner once again stirring in my stomach. My head lolled to the side, and in a moment of clear-thought I wound the window down to relish the fresh air on my face.

The car pulled over, I jumped out after fumbling for a few seconds with the seat belt, and was, again, sick. I felt in my pocket, found my keys, and thrust them to Jordan.

It was 1.30 in the morning.

I think that I have finally broken my love for vodka. My drink of preference, now serves only to make me feel physically sick at just the thought of it. Which is a pity, because that Vanilla Vodka and Sprite was so damn good!

My god, am I paying for it today…

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So no, JR seeing things from my point of view, we stayed and continued our drinks of Vodka and Lift, interspersed with shots. By about 10 o’clock, we were out of Vodka, and so moved onto beer. Which, I needn’t say, is absolutely horrible after the sweet mixes we’d been having.

We caught the bus around 10.30, I think the earliest I’ve ever headed into town. By this stage, we were quite gone. The first thing Jordan wanted to do upon getting to town was, of course, the vertical bungie on Taranaki Street. Twice.

I kept my feet nicely planted on terra firma, there was no way I was going up there, even drunk.

A calmer game of pool followed, with horrible playing done by myself, the alcohol having impaired my coordination. I just generally suck, I’ll admit it, but this was wore than usual. I did pull off one shot, and sink one ball, but for the rest, I often missed the white ball, taking me several attempts just to pull off my shot.

It was time for a few more drinks. I vaguely remember having the giggles because I had the hiccups, and they wouldn’t go away. I was walking around beating my chest, in the hopes of making it stop.

Strangely enough, I got denied entrance to Coyote. I was apparently too drunk. The bouncer, after having let Jordan and JR in, thought I looked pissed (which I was) and asked me how many I’d had to drink that night. I was quite taken aback, and so stupidly replied “Oh, I dunno, not too many eh” which would only have reinforced his opinion. To test me out, he asked me to walk to a pole and back. Which I did, and quite convincingly I thought. But not good enough for him. Apparently, I looked a bit off balance! How he came to this conclusion, I don’t know, perhaps it was because I almost walked into some other people, but that was their fault. So off to Burger King it was for me, to “sober up”. We sat around for about ten minutes, didn’t even bother getting any food, the queue was so long, and went back. The bouncer was still hesitant, but the combined powers of persuasion of the three of us managed to convince him to let me in, with the promise that I’d take it easy.

As soon as we were in, to the bar we went. Vodka and Red Bull’s all around, with a shot of tequila and Jaigermeister each. Definately taking it easy.

Next, on to Shooters, where more drinks were bought and ingested, another vodka and Red Bull, follwed by a vodka and pineapple juice. The copious amount that I had drunk finally caught up with me, and I headed for the toilets, where I remarked, a little surprised, that I was being sick. Strange how you mind can slow down, and not realise exactly what’s going on.

I must have been in there for a while, because Jordan called my cellphone to find out where I was.

Upon meeting back up with them, I found that another vodka and red bull had been poured for me, but I knew that if I touched it, things would not go down very well. They would most likely come up. Jordan tried to talk me into it, but I was physically incapable of drinking it. It repulsed me to even think about it.

By this stage, as is obvious, I was feeling quite shit, and was quite relieved when the bouncer came over and told us that the bar was closing, and it was time for us to leave.

We walked down Courtenay Place for a bit, and stopped to sing along with a busker somewhere along the way. He seemed quite amused, and people kept joining in, there would have been another 3 or 4 still there when we finally left.

Unfortunately, JR somehow got into some kind of altercation with some dude. While we were singing away, apparently he was being smart to a guy opposite him, despite not saying a word. He took offence, and started mouthing off. I tried to mediate the situation, saying that nothing had happened, and that we would just go our way, and he could go his. He didn’t like my interferance, and said “Hey, sideburns, this has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it, or I’ll take you too, sideburns.” Shocked, I abrubtly put him in his place, informing him that they were not sideburns, but part of the whole beard that I’m cultivating.

We just walked away, despite his offers to take on all three of us (although he would not have stood a chance, Jordan and JR were each a lot buffer than he. For my part, whether I fought or not would probably not have changed anything in the slightest). Finally, we caught a taxi home, and crashed.

Jordan woke me up at about 8.30. I still felt completely pissed, and did not want to get up. He and JR left about half an hour later (not sure how safe he would have been to drive all the way back to Napier, really). I went back to bed, and slept for a good five hours more.

Yet still, I feel like crap.

One of the highlights of the night was Jordan’s rendition of the David Brent Dance, from The Office. Arms flaying everywhere, mouth set in determination, and the rhythm uttering forward, he did a great job.

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