There are many things I am proud of in my life. I have won trophies and had many a slap on the back for being an all round nice guy. But for regular readers of my blog you will already know that I was always up to no good when I was younger. I never got into serious trouble with the exception of my driving escapades.
This blog entry is written with a deep sense of humility and is posted here as a way of cleansing my soul. Chances are that it wont work, I’m doomed to burn in hell anyway! At least I’ll be warm and as The Demon Crowley said in Good Omens, “Hell has the best musicians.”
For the people of the United States, please realise that none of the events that follow happened here and no police department should have need to follow-up on any of this.
Saying that, the people of my home town of Bury St.Edmunds, let me start off by saying I’m sorry and the following things I feel really bad about.
First of all to all the people who lived on the route I would stagger home on a Saturday night. Especially the part that took me from The Chick King carry out to my home at that time on the Westley Estate. All depending on A) how drunk I was and B) how hungry I was. As I would try my hardest to put one foot in front of the other hoping that I would wake up in my bed and not a bench somewhere, I would munch on the chicken and savour the potato surprise. I would then need to dispose of the box it came in. Now any normal person would put the box in the nearest trash can. Yeah, Normal. So if you woke up on a Sunday morning and wandered downstairs to pick up your newspaper off your doormat and found a half eaten box of greasy chicken. I’m really, really sorry that was me.
Secondly, on that same walk home somewhere along the Newmarket road, just past the old Barracks, there are some nice houses on the right. I was always impressed by the long driveways and thought that it would be nice to own a house like that. Anyway there was a house with a couple of stone pillars marking the driveway and on top some nice decorative stone balls. Being somewhat under the influence of alcohol I thought it would be a good idea to move the stone balls and place them in various random places, such as the owners fish pond. Again, I’m really, really sorry.
And now finally I want to say sorry to my Mother, and solve a family mystery that dates back to 1988.
As you have gathered by my previous faux-pas that I used to like to party it up at the weekend. And you’ll also notice that I never drove drunk, I would always walk home. Something that I think everyone should do. That cold air sometimes helps sober you up. There have been on the odd occasion where on my amble home that my bladder would get the better of me. So finding somewhere to relieve myself was a high priority. That would be dark secluded alleyways and such like. Then there was the time that my key wouldn’t work in the front door. The key fit, the lock worked, my hands didn’t. The booze, plus the fact that my bladder was giving me the two-minute warning was playing hard on my mental state. So I did the only thing I could, I pee’d in the front garden.
Ah the relief.
Now, that night my brother-in-laws had got me home and saw what was going on, so the buggered off as quick as they could, because they didn’t want to face my Mother and explain why her son was in this state.
Now time passes as it does and then one nice afternoon at the house during a family gathering my Mother was talking about her garden and how well it had grown this year. All except for the parsley, The parsley did not grow this year and she didn’t know why and she was most disappointed.
My brother-in-laws were choking back the tears of laughter and my mother looked confused. When asked why the were laughing, they refused to say why.
Well here’s the truth, Sorry Mum, I pee’d on your parsley!