Never again. Not me. I'm getting too old to party
like that. You wake up the next morning feeling shit
, and you know you'll never be able to face any of those people again, and you don't want to drink or eat or pop whatever it was you had last night.
And there's always some clown, some dippy mate of your brother's girlfriend, who's got some bright idea. Well Roddy, that was his name, a real dork, says he works in some pharmaceutical company, Rhone-Poulenc or Glaxo or... I can't even remember now. Large gaps in my... ugh... hang on.
Back again. I just washed that too. Where was I? Oh yeah, Roddy the boy genius, he washes the glass dishes, I know that now, and he can't tell aspirin from weedkiller. Last night he was giving it out like he's Watson and Crick and Marie Curie combined. Says they're working on these "uppers". Ecstasy-cum-orgasm pills he called them, with a leer. Dork. Dorky dorky dorky prat.
Okay, I knew I shouldn't have been fucking Steve at the party. Nobody caught us, okay, but they could easily have walked in, and I was in no condition to hide myself quickly. We'd been drinking so long I'd lost track of what time it was. Or when I last had the Pill. Oh dear. Yes. Always a little worry in the back of the mind, but you know, you get used to doing it automatically, reach into the handbag...
Well I say this for Roddy's pills. They improved the sex. I was impressed with what Steve could do with a bit of chemical prodding.
And apparently the rabbit blew up like a balloon and died with a smile on its lips.