What is the strangest place you've ever woken up? I once woke up under a parked van in the Station Carpark at Mill Hill. I was probably 17 at the time and was making my way home from a party in rather high spirits. I had no recollection of how I got there. I broached the subject with friends at the party and they'd said I just disappeared on the way home. They'd not bothered to wonder where I'd gone. When you wake up, feel cold, open your eyes and look up to see the underside of a van. A stinking hangover made matters far worse.
I'm generally a pretty light sleeper, so I have to drink a hell of a lot to pass out. One event that my sister Caroline (she's the one who's a barrister, with some rather strange friends) still teases me about is when I had arranged to meet a group of friends at the Sound and Vision in Dean St, late in 1983 after work. They didn't turn up until 10pm, by which time I was rather drunk and rather angry. During the hour that followed, I had a fight with one of them in the street. On arriving back at one of their flats, I promptly fell asleep in a chair, resting my head on my hand. They thought it would be rather funny to tip a tin of custard down my arm. As the glutneous glob made it's way down my sleeve, I awoke. Realising that all was not right, I assumed I'd thrown up down my sleeve. As everyone was laughing at me and I was furious, I kicked over the coffee table and stormed out, proclaiming "I may have been sick, but at least nobody's wound me up". The sheer stupidity of my statement abated the wrath of the group for covering them all in coffee.
Perhaps one of the more amusing times I woke up, was when I shared a house. The tradition was that the new boy got the worst room. As flatmates moved out, you got the better rooms. One guy moved out and a new girl moved in. I moved into his room. I was fairly minimalistic with my possessions then. The move was done on a Saturday morning. I moved my stuff and then went to the pub. I returned at about 10.30 pm rather worse for wear, ripped off my clothes and fell asleep naked on the bed. At about 11.30 my new flatmate and several of her friends returned. She decided to show them her new room. She entered, put on the light and they all walked in. There, comatose and naked lay I, snoring away. I'm really not sure what transpired next, other than to say that in the morning I found all of my gear, back in my old crappy room and her stuff installed in the good room. It took me about three days to realise, when the full story came out.
Finally, the saddest tale. Around 1983, a friend of mine worked at the University of London Student Union Bar. We'd hooked up with her on a pub crawl around the West End and she'd suggested that we go back to the bar for afters. This we did and at about 1.30 AM I rolled back to St Pancras Station. This was in the pre Thameslink days, when it was old diesel trains with Slam doors. They didn't officially run, but hardened boozers such as myself, knew there was an unadvertised and free hourly service for staff. I jumped on one. I promptly fell asleep and ended up in the sidings at Bedford. Luckily having manual doors, I jumped out, walked back to the station and caught a train heading back to Mill Hill. I promptly fell asleep. I awoke back at St Pancras, where I'd started several hour earlier. I then came upon a cunning plan. I decided to stand up until I got to Mill Hill. This worked. I then merely had to make my way back to my room. On arriving, drunken logic again kicked in. My Landlord had complained that I had woken him up by coming in drunk in the early hours. I didn't want to upset him, so I came up with a better idea. I'd shin up the drainpipe and come in through the window. This was achieved with the minimum of fuss and the stealth of a cat. At least that's what I thought, until Mr Israel (the Landlord) and the police turned up. He demanded to know what was going on. He said he was terrified and thought that there were burglars in the house. I played dumb. Mr Israel, rather unreasonably asked me to leave the next day. What upset him more was that I thought it was all hysterically funny.
He said to me "Roger, unless you promise to not get drunk and wake me up, I'll have to ask you to leave". I replied "Why don't you buy some earplugs, as you must be a really light sleeper". I felt a bit sorry for him, because all of the people renting off him were really extreme characters. He slept downstairs in the front room. The guy in the room next to him, used to host orgies. Mr Israel walked in once, to see a sea of flesh, with bums going up and down, left right and centre. Isaac, who rented the room said "Grab a glass of wine and join us". Mr Israel fled. He asked me to have a look. I did and confirmed "yes, you weren't seeing things". I wouldn't have believed you could get so many people in a 12' by 14' room. In the room next to me was an American girl. She seemed very moms apple pie, but she confided to us that she had to leave her town, as he had an extremely large bust. She'd been walking down the road, aged 14 in a tight t-shirt and a truck driver had gawped as he walked past. His steering wheel followed his eyes and he ran over and killed a load of pedestrians. After that she'd been shunned (strange the way you can do nothing wrong and get the blame). So you see, beer isn't the cause of all the worlds problems !
Oh well, whatever you're drinking, have a lovely Friday evening.
Interesting drunken stories. Fortunately, I have never encountered anything of the sort, no such storied to talk about from me. Instead here I am sitting reading your blog and enjoying a glass of red wine, admiring that damn fine looking Christmas tree. Absolutely amazing!
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