Why a chap should never get too mashed at his own house party
Regular readers may have noticed that Biscuit has developed some what of a habit.
He is a very kissy man. This is important to the story.
We had our house-warming at the weekend. It was a very intoxicating affair. We made space cakes. I’m not really cool enough to do that sort of thing regularly.
I think I’m still not into double figures for the amount of times I have eaten naughty space cakes.
I always have a great time but given that I’m now in my third decade I can’t really pretend to be hardcore.
I’d baked quite a lot of ‘special herbs’ into a series of slightly flat cupcakes for our guests to enjoy. We had no idea of what a suitable amount would be but probably a couple of cakes.
I didn’t stick to the recommended level. The spaz.
The whole day was spent frantically cleaning the house and sorting things out for the party, and then we waited for the guests to arrive. I ate a cake. Then I decided to eat another cake, and another one, and another.
A few hours later was, well I wasn’t in full command of my mental abilities, but I was having a lovely time. In total I ate seven cakes.
An old female friend turned up and we chatted away in the kitchen. I’ve been out with her before and had a great time in a boozy way but I don’t really fancy her.
She had spent most of the night bumping into me and doing various other ‘subtle’ moves to indicate her interest – she had eaten a couple of cakes and drunk a few gin and tonics.
I wasn’t really that interested, she is lovely and all that but she is in the friend space of my mind.
Anyway, the bumping and practically sitting on my lap had got pretty bad. I was bouncing around the room trying to avoid it mostly. You know in a polite English way.
Biscuit appeared in the kitchen and then she started touching his hand and making eye movements that seemed to tell me to leave, so I left to leave them alone, because I could guess what was going to happen next. It’s what Biscuit does.
A minute or two later she reappeared, and sat on my lap and we ended up kissing.
I can remember my thoughts at the time (I made a note of them on my iPhone in the loo) so here they are unabridged. I would like to preface them with the fact that I was very mashed, I have never been more mashed.
‘Only kissing her because I didn’t want Biscuit to kiss her because he always snogs all my friends. Snogging her was a bad idea.’
We ended up doing some more snogging in the back room, the whole time with ‘this is a really bad idea’ rushing through my head in the way that only stoned people can really understand.
At about 10pm I crashed out in bed utterly ruined but having a whale of a time rubbing my face on my bedspreads. She left a bit later, but I don’t remember her going because I was spending some time gaining a new understanding of Pink Floyd.
The next day I apologised to her and awkward conversation with a chum about my behavior, but it seems to be okay. I hope we can still be friends.
My conclusion? Winners don’t do drugs