"Ouch"

Hello

I’ve been hungover today.
I’m not Irish, nor do I feel the need to hijack their national holiday for the sake of a knees-up, so please don’t blame St Patrick.
Melissa Rhyke (27) of Florida and I finally got together to celebrate our six-month anniversary. I use the term ‘together’ lightly, as we were only ‘together’ by virtue of inhabiting the same small acreage of cyberspace, but let’s not dwell on that triviality too long lest I end up with a headache.
My afternoon was spent in three cumbersome but necessary tasks:
1- Taking all the books from my bookcase, and placing them on my new shelf
2 – Moving the empty bookcase from my room
3 – Clearing the half-dried pool of vomit which was hiding behind the bookcase.
I can remember most of last night, but how I managed to vomit an uncertain amount of Bacardi Breezer and undigested salmon cakes into a two-inch gap behind the bookcase is beyond me.
The Prowess Of The Drunken Man Knoweth No Bounds, I guess..

It brings back so many memories of my father – Albert Charles Chesworth - a raging alcoholic who met his end when he mistook a storm-damaged power cable for a urinal.
I don’t think I ever saw him sober, but I bear no ill feeling towards him. If you had to come home to my mother each evening, you’d avoid sobriety like a cancer. That woman is to ugliness what Cristiano Ronaldo is to wing-play, or the great R.B. Woodward was to organic synthesis.

RIP dad

RC 18-3-08
2045 GMT