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| A Spar Carrier Bag - Not for the Likes of Cuz |
Cuz used to host the NYE celebrations at her then shared flat in Haven Green. The evening's proceedings were based around an intended civilised dinner but due to the lethal aperitifs and amount of Cava consumed, usually by the time the cheese board came out no one knew what their own names were. We tried very hard to be adult and urbane at these events but - pissing in the bath while wearing a cocktail frock is still pissing in the bath.
This particular NYE Cuz had been summoned into work to complete a particularly dodgy international property deal. This blew the catering timetable to shreds so Cuz decided catering duties could be delegated to a couple of responsible and reliable acquaintances until she could return home and resume the role of hostess. Unfortunately these particular grown-ups were out when she rang them so she had to resort to giving Acton Baby and I the keys to the flat together with a strict timetable of marinating/roasting.
Acton Baby and I decided to behave for once, synchronised our watches and agreed a rendezvous time of 2pm. Like a pair of fuckwits we agree to meet in the “North Star”. This is where it all went wrong.
Angus was working the afternoon shift and we were DOOMED. After a couple of pints we attempted an exit with the full intention of heading over to Cuz's flat to insert the wildebeest or whatever it was into the oven. But Angus already had a couple of pints on the bar. Then, as Angus pointed out it was a fairly cold and dreary afternoon and it would be a blinding idea to have a whiskey each. Every time we tried to leave he had another pint/whiskey ready for us. After a couple of hours Acton Baby and I had to acknowledge that we were indeed pished and the suckling pig or whatever the fuck it was hadn't yet migrated to the oven and Cuz was going to stab us.
We rang Badger and pleaded for help claiming Angus had kidnapped us and we were locked in the cellar. Badger merely sighed, put her Mac on, mounted a bus, headed to the North Star, took the keys off us and tutting mildly headed over to Cuz's flat to manhandle the wild boar into the oven.
Knowing full well that we had nearly sabotaged dinner and were probably in the shit big time, Acton Baby and I assuaged our guilt by having some more beer. Around 7pm we staggered across the Green to the flat and, permitted access by Badger in a fetching pinny, slumped around in Cuz's living room belching Guinness & single malt fumes quietly while pretending very hard that we were not very, very pissed.
Conscious that I may slur when pissed I completely lose my Scouse accent and morph into Noel Coward. When I start enunciating like a 1930s BBC continuity announcer you know I've lost it big time. I was well into Noel Coward mode this NYE; chances were Cuz was going to spot it immediately and hit me with her Mouli grater.
However I think I got away with it when she staggered through the door around 8pm, monumentally pissed and wearing a carrier bag around one ankle.
"Halloo my dahlinks” she announced in the hallway while swaying mildly. “One's been dwinking Champagne at the orifice all ahhfternoon".
"Fuck me sideways" I thought, "She's even more langered than I am. And she sounds like Annette Mills".
"Does one know one has a carrier bag fashioned from ethylene monomers around one's ankle my love?" I queried.
Cuz glanced down at her feet, straightened up again and replied imperiously "At least it's from facking Next" and staggered off to the kitchen.
This particular NYE Cuz had been summoned into work to complete a particularly dodgy international property deal. This blew the catering timetable to shreds so Cuz decided catering duties could be delegated to a couple of responsible and reliable acquaintances until she could return home and resume the role of hostess. Unfortunately these particular grown-ups were out when she rang them so she had to resort to giving Acton Baby and I the keys to the flat together with a strict timetable of marinating/roasting.
Acton Baby and I decided to behave for once, synchronised our watches and agreed a rendezvous time of 2pm. Like a pair of fuckwits we agree to meet in the “North Star”. This is where it all went wrong.
Angus was working the afternoon shift and we were DOOMED. After a couple of pints we attempted an exit with the full intention of heading over to Cuz's flat to insert the wildebeest or whatever it was into the oven. But Angus already had a couple of pints on the bar. Then, as Angus pointed out it was a fairly cold and dreary afternoon and it would be a blinding idea to have a whiskey each. Every time we tried to leave he had another pint/whiskey ready for us. After a couple of hours Acton Baby and I had to acknowledge that we were indeed pished and the suckling pig or whatever the fuck it was hadn't yet migrated to the oven and Cuz was going to stab us.
We rang Badger and pleaded for help claiming Angus had kidnapped us and we were locked in the cellar. Badger merely sighed, put her Mac on, mounted a bus, headed to the North Star, took the keys off us and tutting mildly headed over to Cuz's flat to manhandle the wild boar into the oven.
Knowing full well that we had nearly sabotaged dinner and were probably in the shit big time, Acton Baby and I assuaged our guilt by having some more beer. Around 7pm we staggered across the Green to the flat and, permitted access by Badger in a fetching pinny, slumped around in Cuz's living room belching Guinness & single malt fumes quietly while pretending very hard that we were not very, very pissed.
Conscious that I may slur when pissed I completely lose my Scouse accent and morph into Noel Coward. When I start enunciating like a 1930s BBC continuity announcer you know I've lost it big time. I was well into Noel Coward mode this NYE; chances were Cuz was going to spot it immediately and hit me with her Mouli grater.
However I think I got away with it when she staggered through the door around 8pm, monumentally pissed and wearing a carrier bag around one ankle.
"Halloo my dahlinks” she announced in the hallway while swaying mildly. “One's been dwinking Champagne at the orifice all ahhfternoon".
"Fuck me sideways" I thought, "She's even more langered than I am. And she sounds like Annette Mills".
"Does one know one has a carrier bag fashioned from ethylene monomers around one's ankle my love?" I queried.
Cuz glanced down at her feet, straightened up again and replied imperiously "At least it's from facking Next" and staggered off to the kitchen.
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