27 Raeburn Place: Bon Voyage, Whatever That Means.

Standing on the edge of the world, it can sometimes be hard to jump. But there is always someone there, egging you on, telling you everything will be okay, and that if you jump, the worst that can happen is normally the best thing that could’ve happened. Waiting for something like an opportunity to jump of the edge of the world might come once in your life, might come very single day, or it might never come at all, but the one fact is that the majority of these moments are handcrafted by ourselves, and normally not noticed by anyone other than ourselves. Rarely is a turning point celebrated, and if it goes noticed then you probably are the last person to realise it was worth it.

But why am I pontificating this? I don’t know, but it feels good to talk about it, as I feel that the last few weeks have been a large turning point, and with Hazel now officially on the other side of the world for a good while, I think another jump is due soon, but I have no idea how high it will be till I land.

Okay, enough. I had the Scouters up this weekend for some horrible antics, and my, were they horrible. We start out in the flat drinking seven shades of shite out of cans of beer, before heading onto the first pub. We met up with Charlii, a good friend of ours who showed us the town. First, onto the Priory. When we arrived it was quite quiet, with a few people in the bar. At least, that is how I remember it. Drink time!

The Purple Haze. “I think my nose has just been set on fire.So, I watch Charlii ask the barman for a few drinks, and wonder what she is ordering us. Then, she proclaims “This how you drink it!”, and this is exactly what happens. The barman pours a glass for a shot, and then lights it. It burns for a bit, and then he covers the glass with a small wine glass. This extinguishes the flame, and then he removes the wine glass, quickly taking it off the glass, and putting it upside down on the bar, capturing the vapours from the flaming drink. You then SHOOT the now warm booze, in one go, and it burns your throat like something else. You are then given a straw, to suck up the vapour from under the wine glass. This totally caught me off guard, and I almost fell over with the strength of the vapours. Once this is done, the bar man empties what you did not shoot from the glass into the top of the upside down wine glass (in the curved bit underneath the glass) and you are then to snort the rest up your nose, which made my head spin. I was drunk from that point on.

The Drunken Duff. “I Think I need to leave. I can’t stand up.Stuart has the rather awkward problem of getting really drunk before anyone else, and normally catches us all way off guard. For example while inside the last pub, he rambles onto me about having his jacket taken from him. It must be noted here that he does not have a jacket, and never wore one out that night. Most interestingly, Finlay appeared at around 2am, telling me “Duff wants to se you outside”, so I wander up the stairs, out onto Union Street, to find Mr Duff leaning against a wall, swaying listlessly, like a buoy at sea in a storm. He glances at me, and smiles. “I need to go home.” He says, slurring every syllable. We stagger into a chip shop, and Duff gets Finlay to get “me a busghurygar…” which costs Finlay £11 for two. The food was top notch, but the prices… oyez.

The Drunken Hyder. “Eat my snatch.Hyder when drunk can be the funniest man on the planet, and at the same time being absolutely interminable, becoming a ranting, shouting, touching, hitting, swearing, bantering, bastard of a man, who can revulse you with one phrase, and at the same double you over with glee at a top notch phrase or saying, and Saturday night was another good night for himself. His highlight of the whole night was when we got back to my flat, and pulled out the sofa beds (which, thinking about it, I cannot believe we managed in the state we were in) and Duff collapsed heavily onto Hyder’s. This sent Hyder into a spiral of “GET OFF MY BED” for at least five minutes, Hyder pulling his famous “repeat things for a long time the become funny, and then continue until they become annoying” joke.

The Hung-over Finlay. “I don’t feel well!” and “I’MGONNABESICK”Finlay is normally useless when he gets drunk – he wanders about, bumping into people, and dances to pretty much anything, including silence, and the noise of a computer game car. So when we headed out on the Sunday for some food at lunch time, Finlay was in a bad way, finding it hard to stay steady, and kept shouting he was “gonna be sick!”, even when we were in Frankensteins, having lunch. His banter became gold once we were in the flat playing Forza, but he levelled out when we watched the rugby, after the sugar high from some coke vanished, and we started drinking wine.

Jongleurs, this Friday shall be a good story, I feel.