Last night I ended up stumbling the walk home from town at about 5am. On the way it seems I took some photos.
I do not know why.
Still, here is my gallery entitled ‘Drunken Dransfield: He Didn’t Fall Over’.
Dogs are clearly the greatest creatures known to man – better than humans, some would say. I would probably say that, before correcting myself once I realised how daft a statement it was. Regardless, dogs are indeed brilliant. I do not have a dog right now, but I have talked about my old dog in the past – and how I still have regular dreams about her. I need something to combat this. What could combat this?
Unfortunately, I am not in the position to get a puppy right now. I work too much, live in shared housing with an insane landlord and don’t earn enough to look after myself, never mind a tiny pooch.
But one day soon I will get said tiny pooch and make it my own. It will be called something like Shane (though that’s a horse’s name) and it will be a good, big dog. Not a rubbish, small dog. It will learn simple tricks like how to fetch me beer and it will kill all those who oppose me.
It will torment and murder my enemies, defend my fortress from assault and guard the very gates of my domain. While having three heads.
I think I may have gone a step too far into the realms of Cerberus here, rather than just a puppy. Sorry, I’m a bit drunk. Night.
When do you write your best stuff? Blogs, emails, things for work – whatever. I do a lot of writing, as I may have mentioned (via writing, hilariously) so I tend to be able to judge when and why I’ll be at my best, my worst or my least enthusiastic.
Strangely, being drunk doesn’t actually hamper my ability to string together something half-readable. It does impair my ability to hit the right keys, naturally, but I’ve re-read things I’ve written when three sheets to the wind and a fair few times they’ve turned out to be okay. It must be the removal of internal barriers – less inhibited writing leads to more openness and honesty. And as we all know, they are good things.
Similarly, writing when hungover (hello!) can have a positive effect on the wordage. While there are times when the headache has been too great, or the nausea has been too much to successfully concentrate on writing more than a token couple of hundred words, there are times when it comes out okay. It’s another case of being in a more open, honest state. Though more guarded than when drunk, I find myself being more reflective and talking about more emotional things than I do at other times.
Sober? Well, then I write how I write. It can be okay, it can be good (rarely) and it can be bad. To be honest it’s not often that bad when I’m sober. Unless…
I’m tired. When I’m tired it goes either one of two ways: I cannot write, as my brain will not fill in the words. Or I will write tripe, as my brain can think of some words, but none that apply to what is actually being written about. I used the same phrase two or three times in the space of one paragraph a while back when writing something on about two hours sleep, such was the inability of my mind to bother trying very hard. Or even to keep track of what I’d written the sentence before.
I’m sure there are other states of being I could go into, but I’m a combination of hungover and tired right now, so I’m going to think of some inward-looking, emotional words to write, because I’m a combination of hungover and tired right now.
Can anyone tell me what good use of a week off work is? Or at least what is considered a good, well-spent week off work? Because it would appear I don’t know. I decided it would be a good idea to visit my ladychum in Manchester and desecrate her flat for the week: good idea. That’s where they end.
In this week where I could be productive, fun, catch up on sleep and generally sort myself out a bit I have done nothing of the above. I’m surprised I even managed to arrive in Manchester without falling into a coma or something.
Instead of doing things I should be doing, exercising my brain or anything of the sort, I have spent the last couple of days – for example – finding old games to install on my netbook. I have also spent a lot of this time locating newer games that can successfully be tweaked enough to run on the very same netbook. Have I even played any of these games yet? Oh god no. You have to remember it’s the chase that’s the exciting part. After that it just gets boring. It’s the sitting, trawling through reams of half-literate nonsense all over the interspaz that gets me excited about the possibilities of these things. Then you finally load up a functioning version of Daggerfall and realise it’s slow, clunky and resoundingly old. Not at all like you remember it.
I haven’t been fun, though this is pretty much par for the course when it comes to post-2006-Leeds Ian, which was pretty much the cut-off point for me bothering to go out very much anymore. So surely with a lack of pubbing and drinking I have managed to catch up with some sleep? No. Awake at about half nine every morning, up at about half ten after staring at the walls for an hour. In a week where I have had no responsibilities whatsoever I have failed to even do the thing that is most important to me: to sleep.
Many would consider this a wasted week, but then many insist on doing things like going outside, talking to people and whatever else they feel is “normal”, whatever that is. I actually consider it a good week off.
Anyway, I have to go see if Oldblivion makes Oblivion playable on this tiny thing.
This counts, because I’ve not been to bed since I woke up. THEREFORE it’s just one day. Good god It’s hard to hit the keys I want.
There are many different types of drunken people, and they all react to the DEVIL’S BREW in different ways. I, for example, tend to stand tall and stoic, looking like no one can fell this giant when in actual fact all you need to do is sing some ABBA at me and I’m on the floor. It’s a fine technique that I’ve honed over the years and it results in many friends saying things like “I didn’t even know you were drunk” and the like. Trust me – I was.
Then we have the foolish drunks, who get a few bevvies inside them and let just about everything loose. Sorry kids, but just keep some of it for the imagination, instead of just being a big drunk prick who gets naked at the first sign of half a pint of shandy. Not naming any names.
Can you tell this is down the path of naming drunk types? It’s easy to do this bit when I’ve had a few shandies myself.
My favourite is probably the all-outer, who drinks so much they can no longer see, communicate or… well – live. These tend to be the ones that are either lightweights or overdrinkers (a phrase I’ve just invented, yet one I’m sure has been used before). They are the most amusing of the drinkers, and the ones that make us continue to try and destroy our most hardy of the organs – the liver.
Apologies both for the fact this is a shit entry, and the fact I’m so very inebriated right now. All spelling mistakes/typos are courtesy of BEER. I love you all. Good night.