Happy St. Patrick's day, Fella
Ah March 17th, St Patrick's Day. A festive holiday where the World over celebrate St Patrick for driving the Snakes out of Ireland with his amazing flute music. (Or awful, I'm sure it was one or the other to get them out). Sure historians say that never actually happened but everyone still runs with it so they can get off their face drunk and put on woeful Irish accents. It's practically a rite of passage on St Patrick's day to be a drunk Irish moron. Its a tradition I hope never dies.
On this day pubs across the World usually prepare for an influx of customers and stock their taps with Guinness. Which in my opinion tastes like sewage water mixed with old cooking oil. Only once a year do people drink this unholy broth but I myself have never been able to bring myself to ever drink another one after trying it out for the first time 4 years ago.
Although 4 Years ago I do have a wonderful St Patrick's Day story.
4 Years ago I was still a fun loving Teenager, I was at my mate Coxy's house getting drunk off our faces at around mid day. Just drinking Smirnoff blacks waiting for the others to come over so we could stumble over to the local pub for some Guinness. It was around 5 in the afternoon when everyone had arrived while Coxy and myself were just rolling around the front yard on the grass completely smashed.
We got into car driven by one of our more responsible friends and we made our way to the Oaks pub. A nice family friendly bar with a nice big Oak Tree in the center of the Pub (Outside Area) thus giving it the name The Oaks. We sat there continuing to drink until someone bought a round of Guinness. It was warm black beer, it was a weird bitter taste that I instantly hated. Normally I'd just tolerate a beer and order a Lager of some kind but this was too much.
That's when I hit the wall, the point where your body tells you if you drink a sip more you will throw up everywhere. So I sat there in silence for an hour trying to maintain my composure. All the boys continuing their loud rowdy conversation while I sat completely still trying not to vomit everywhere. Eventually what felt like an eternity later my mate Coxy snapped me out of it and asked if I was okay. I shook my head and he took that as an invitation to inhale my pint of Guinness.
After another round of Guinness which I did not participate in we jumped on a bus to the City where we went to a small hole in the ground pub. By then I was feeling a lot better after consuming a warm pastry and a pint of regular beer. We wondered outside and tried to get into the Irish pub across the road. the Doorman wasn't letting anyone in that didn't have a green stamp on them so we struck up a conversation with 2 Irish ladies. Coxy was mighty drunk at this stage and was putting on the thickest Irish accent you've ever seen. Trying to convince these lovely ladies that he was from the Northern part of Ireland. They named a town which I presumed to be in the Northern Part of Ireland and Coxy just replied "Oh yeah I'm from the Town above that" to which they replied "Anything above that town isn't Ireland". Usually by now you'd think the jig was up and he would've dropped the fake irish persona...
But you under estimate the stubbornness of Drunk Irish Coxy who kept arguing his point with them until I interjected that I myself was half Irish and they looked at me and my pale complection and reddish blonde hair and just said "Yeah, that we can believe but him on the other hand.:
And they went on arguing. Eventually we got into the bar after Coxy had managed to rub their stamps onto our wrists. How he managed to get them to help us out still remains a mystery to this day. But we went on in and had a good old time and that's when I lost my fancy Irish hat and any recollection of the rest of the night. Woke up on Coxy's couch in the morning with a spliting headache and most of the buttons of my shirt missing.
Let's hope tonight is as eventful.
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