Thursday, 4 June 2009

The A312 incident (or - the dangers of too much alcohol)

OK, as requested, the tale of the A312 (also known as the Hayes Bypass) 'incident'.

My much beloved and I met while working together at a place called The West London Training & Enterprise Council, who were (are?) based in Hounslow, West London. Aah, those were the good ol' days... we were young, carefree, and fans of going out for the occasional piss up. So one of the people from the company were leaving, and had a leaving do (as is the tradition) at a local hostelry.

The evening was full of urbane conversation and witty retorts... (actually, it was full of swearing and tit jokes, but you get the idea) and by the end of the evening, when it was time to wend our merry way home, I discovered that due to some dodgy ale (or something) I couldn't really walk or see straight. So the much beloved and I found a cab, and started our journey home.

Now, I am not the best in a car when even a little more than slightly inebriated. And 'pon this night, I was a LOT more than slightly inebriated. So after about 10 minutes in the back of the cab my stomach decided enough was enough and urged me to get out of the cab so it could evacuate itself. Unfortunately, the place it decided to do this was on a massive roundabout at a set of traffic lights. (For those with local knowledge, this is the Western International roundabout, the one just before Pump Lane on the Hayes Bypass). For those without local knowledge, it's basically a massive roundabout, with four lanes of traffic flowing through it, controlled by traffic lights. So as the cab had stopped at a red light, I opened the back passenger door, leaned out gracefully and shared my stomach contents with the tarmac. This was quite a major emptying, and we were infact stopped at the same set of lights for something like four or five changes of light (red to green to red etc.). This is not good.

So anyway, I finally manage to drag my sorry, vomit smelling, dizzy, miserable self back into the cab, and it moves off, but I can only manage to get as far as the other side of the roundabout before requesting politely ("Pull the fcuking cab over now before I puke on the back of your head!") to stop again. I couldn't do it. I couldn't manage the cab journey home. So thrusting I- don't-know how much money into the hands of the cab driver, I demanded he take my much beloved home safely, while I reassured her that I would "take a little stroll to clear my head, I'll be fine, don't worry". She was fairly frantic, and I can understand why - I was basically suggesting I would walk home along what amounted to a two lane motorway... no hard shoulder, no foot path, nothing. But I wasn't a-feared! No! For I had my invincible beer coat on! (what a tw@t).
So off she tootles, no doubt cursing the day she drugged me and convinced me to be her beau, while I start the long hike back toward home. You can picture it can't you, a sad, weary looking fellow, with the smell of second hand beer wafting off him, weaving down the edge of this busy, fast, long road at night.

Anyhoo... evidently I didn't die. I managed to walk the length of the A312 to another major roundabout (again, those of local knowledge - The White Hart roundabout). A journey of about 2.5 miles. (According to Google Maps). By this time, my head had cleared enough to be able to handle another cab ride the rest of the way home, where I arrived to be met by my worried, sympathetic much beloved. Actually, she threw the front door keys out of the bedroom window at me to let me in, and then shut and locked the bedroom door, giving me the opportunity to find out how comfortable our futon was to sleep on.

The moral of the story? Alcohol is bad.

9 comments:

Colin said...

Mrs Blanc would never do that to me....

Did you get a good nights sleep on the Futon.

Shauna said...

That's because our bedroom door doesn't have a lock on it! (But there's an idea.....!)

Nice one, Simon - but I'm slightly concerned at you referring to your wife as "much beloved" in the style of Sarah Kennedy? Surely my husband is the only one who listens to her???

Simon said...

Shauna - guilty as charged, Sarah Kennedy is my inspiration for "much beloved". Its a nice phrase. And I was getting too much grief for phrases such as "current Mrs Molloy" and "Other half".

Shauna said...

"Current Mrs Molloy" always made me laugh - when's her time up and the replacement due? Poor lass....

Simon said...

And that's actually taken from the old Chris Evans breakfast show on whatever radio station he was on years ago with his breakfast team - one of the studio engineers or something always referred to his wife as "Current Mrs..." whatever it was. So again, no credit on my part I'm afraid.

Colin said...

You can't beat a bit of Sarah Kennedy!
I love her newspaper review....

Shauna said...

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The Current Mrs Molloy said...

I quite like the term "current Mrs Molloy" ... it gives me hope for the future.

Sarah Kennedy said...

I'm actually pretty hopeless as a DJ, so please don;t bother listening to me anymore. You;re far too young. Only those over the age of 50 should be listening to me.

By all means listen to Terry (or "Sir Read-a-lot" as we call him) or even give the lovely Chris Moyles another go. But please don't bother with me anymore. I am a bumbling old fool who used to be on Game for a Laugh.

Talking of Game for a Laugh, does anyone remember Henry Kelly? What a chuffing Henry Kelly.....