|I had performed 8 shows in a day, I felt hard working and rewarded myself by
catching a taxi to my good friend Chris's place.
He was having a housewarming and I decided I would go in a moderating
capacity, knowing full well that everyone else there was going to get
There were about ten people there when I arrived, there was a table stacked
with delicious home made food, everyone else had eaten.
They were sitting in a roundish arrangement talking in groups of 3 or 4.
There were two cases of beer, a litre of 20 year old rum, a large bottle of
blue label vodka, couple of bottles of wine, a tiny bottle of orange juice
and five grams of assorted hash and buds.
I was tired, I was going to take it easy, just a beer and listen to the chat. I felt together.
Messy old mescal followed by vodka, in dispersed with joints strong enough to simulate a direct meteor hit. I started to loosen up, my earlier tiredness and resolve dissolved. I opened my mouth and 40 minutes of verbiage emerged. Storys of nighttime mescal raids, of snowstorms striking tree bound, speed storys, love storys, philosophic musings, enthusiastic sports quotes.
There was English Chris whose new flat it was, there was American Chris who cooked and prepared the food, salads,curried chicken,lots of quakomali--mashed avacardo stuff and beans of sorts. Skipper Dave and his Danish main squeeze, a welsh guy whose name escapes me and his reluctant brooding girlfriend, Nathan, rick and a carpenter called Danny who had a swollen face from a tooth and his girlfriend and two English friends who no-one else knew who had arrived that day and were staying.
Nathan spearheaded the latter evening. In energy, stamina and in total intake Nathan took the party by the horns. His curiosity, his capacity to overindulge while remaining conscious, his going where few others would want to. Standing, lashed to the wheel of a storm dashed large sailboat mid ocean, enjoying every moment. That was Nathans condition.
Multiple repetitions "yeah pass it here--you know tequila¼s my very favourite drink." Reaching for the bottle and the thimble like plastic cup. At one point he talked for an hour, his arms waving, his hands flicking. Hyper manic happiness and you knew it was real.
Taking time out he rolled everyone a large joint then stood on the spot waving his arms about slowly. This enthralled us until he fell bumfirst into a green plastic beercrate. He tried so hard and for so long to extract himself from that crate that we feared for his and our sanity. In despair he fell sideways and found that in that position he could simply push the crate away from him. To us all this was a great victory. Nathan spent the next hour standing up, falling the length of the room then getting up again.
Two am. Half of us remain English Chris wisely decides to make coffee Nathan with difficulty could hold his cup, but bringing it up anywhere near his head or specifically near his mouth was impossible. Chris took his cup and placed it on top of the fridge. Nathan devised his own dilemma- he could steady himself by hugging the fridge and tilt his mouth towards the cup on the edge. But to tip the cup with the same arm needed to hug the fridge proved after many attempts to be futile, the dramatic ending being an incomphending Nathan lying in a pile of bottles covered in coffee front and back- waving an empty coffee cup.
There were five people hanging off furniture or lying on the wooden floor in the morning. After waking and coffee and mild investigation it was worked out that the latter part of the party must have taken place in a collective blackout. Some lost their memories earlier and others could fill them in but no-one could remember going to sleep or anyone else going to sleep. What did we say to each other, who were we?
I never did it for the money nor am I lonely or frightened.
I can¼t remember the last thing I did for money but I probably did it
I tend to drink you see, I tend the garden of my brain with alcohol and it
lies in furrow/fallow
© MARTIN EWEN 1998