Sagres and The Vomit Comet
Having spent 40 years on this planet, you would have thought that I am now old and wise enough to learn from past mistakes. But no, like the proverbial man-boy that I am, I still get caught out. I still make decisions that go awry. I still get drunk and fall asleep on trains and wake up in the darkest regions of Essex.
It started with a phone call. An old mate is working in the neighbourhood, did I fancy a quick pint after work? Of course I did. One quick pint never hurt anybody and the quick pint in question was Sagres, an inoffensive and fairly bland lager from Portugual. Quaffable, especially during conversation. Easy going, pale, slightly hoppy and slips down your neck with no issue, aside from the occasional burping and inconvenience of having to go to the loo every 10 minutes. Because you are old and you have broken the seal.
One more? Oh go on then, this is fun and spontaneous. This is living! HA! Hahahahahaha.
I am not sure how many we got through last night but having found myself on the last train out of Fenchurch Street, otherwise known as The Vomit Comet, I gave myself a little fist bump on the forehead.
'Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep.'
So I fell asleep and woke up in Laindon, near Bas Vagas. Not a disaster. I've woken up in Southend before (and swung a missed kick at a cyclist who jumped off the train, laughing at my obvious distress). But it meant getting one of those cabs that hoovers up sozzled commuters after midnight. Their grins widen and amplify once addresses are given and miles are calculated and I hate that.
However, sometimes, it's worth it. Paying that bit extra at the end of the evening. Because you should always treasure these moments, when they occur off the cuff. They are always the best.
So go out tonight and have fun and if you see it on tap, drink some of this cervejas, it's not that bad really.
A good tip is to stand on the train home though.