Research expedition

Well campers, in the name of my science I found myself in the pursuit of inebriation.

As part of this meticulous and clinical process I decided it was necessary to better understand the alcohol consumption of the previous evening before evaluating its impact the following morning. To further this cause, I have documented the stages of my evening:

Stage 1
pursuit of inebriation, stage 1

Drink 1 and 2

Time 7pm

Status Feeling good at this point. More of an “after-work” kind of pint than a true beginning of the evening. The bean and I share one down at Sean’s and he suggests I drop in for the Amber Moon show with the goatskin later. Sounds good.

Stage 2
pursuit of inebriation, stage 2

Drink 3

Time 9.30pm

Status Refreshed with a bit of grub back home, I return to Sean’s. A co-worker has txt’d me to say a few work folk will be gathering in the beer garden for adult refreshments. Wifey has secured a sitter and promises to join me shortly as well – looks to be a good night. I help Amber Moon set up equipment and chat with some folks at the bar.

Stage 3
pursuit of inebriation, stage 3 wherein protagonist is pictured singing

Drink 4-5

Time 11pm

Status Chatting with coworkers out in the beer garden about Irish politics, about accents with some US tourists up the front, and sitting in on the Amber Moon session. I recall a fantastic moment of 3-part harmony on Mighty Quinn. Wifey has arrived and is socialising and singing the odd song. Feeling great – this is definitely the best part of the evening so far. Let’s hope things stay this way.

Stage 4
pursuit of inebriation, stage 4 wherein protagonist is pictured with vodka

Drink 6-??

Time 1am

Status Where did it all go wrong? Suddenly I’m in Karma nightclub. We have, as a group, thrown back a round of tequila shots a coworker had ordered us. I’m holding a glass filled with . . . *sip* . . . yes, that appears to be a vodka and white. Alcohols are mixing, the dance floor is thumping with bass. Wifey is dancing exuberantly and, as usual, wondering how it is that my sense of rhythm in music does not extend to an enthusiasm for the dance floor. I’m feeling a little too drunk and slightly nauseous. How many of these have I had?

As the lights switch on in the nightclub and we file for the door someone suggests a dirty chinese. Good lord, the Irish night out disease has stolen my evening!!

It remains to be seen how that breathaliser in the morning is going to be . . .