This is the bit where you read [14 Mar 2006|12:36am] Friday. I shall write about what I did Friday, because Bethan came round on Sunday, and asked me what I did on Friday, and I almost forgot. Perhaps I should write things more like a diary, in case the forgetting gets worse. Just watched a very sad tale on BBC Four about Kenneth Williams. They made it from his diaries. Poor man, such loneliness and repression. What it is to have so much life in front of you and shy away from it in fear. But I understand why he did. Friday. Travelled from Bute Bunker to watch a rugby match in Aberdare, getting there via a wing, a prayer, and Hannah's erratic driving (actually not that bad, I just don't like sitting in the back of cars). I ate most of Hannah's Jelly Babies. Which is strange, because I don't like them. I was supposed to take fee-yo-toes, which was all fine to start with, but then the cold stopped me from functioning. I took one brilliant one, and countless dark and fuzzy ones. Then I turned the flash off, slowed the aperture speed and got a big long streak that looked like a shooting star as the ball flew between the posts for a conversion. Then I deleted it because the cold made my fingers and brain ignore each other. I gave up and went to the clubhouse (a fine building with very cheap alcohol) because standing around in weather that is cold enough to kill the homeless is no fun at all. At the bar I argued with one of a gaggle of valleys girls who worked there (who all seemed to be in various stages of pregnancy) about whether Section 4 or Section 5 of the Public Disturbances Act was "drunk and disorderly". Turns out she was right. Mind you, I shouldn't have have doubted her, since her reasoning was that she'd "been done loads of times for it in the third year". Section 5 = "using threatening, abusive or insulting words or behaviour, or disorderly behaviour likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress." Drunk and disorderly behaviour = section 91 Criminal Justice Act 1967. Which means that we got it wrong in Hereford, and the old skool night should have been called "Section 91". Although that's not as catchy. I called my cousin who came down. Despite her tiny size, she drinks faster than me, and was outpacing me in cherry brandys. Not to be outdone, I began drinking faster, and here lay the beginning of the mistake. Back in Cardiff, Hannah, Hattie (The Duchess), and myself went to 24hr Tesco, where Jack Daniels and Gordon's gin was purchased. Then we went to Gary's house party, where a very drunk and pretty young lady took a shine to yours truly. This was an interesting diversion until I realised how drunk she was. Incoherently drunk. I drank all of my Jack Daniels, and said something I shouldn't have to someone who didn't deserve it. Increasingly I overestimate my limits, and whilst my alcohol threshold is still pretty heroic by my standards and downright foolhardy by everyone else's, it seems I can't take as much as I used to. It must be similar to having Tourette's. The one thing you shouldn't say at that moment. Go on. Say it. Saayyyy itttt. Say it. Say it say it say it. Say it. Oh no, now you've said it. And it was worse than you expected. Because it was the worst thing you could say at that moment. Feel better for saying it? No? Hmm, that's strange. Still, we made up, and the person I said it to said some things to me that needed to be said. This made me feel even worse, because the things she said made me realise more how clever and brilliant she is. She is clever and brilliant and I am drunk and say silly things. Sometimes I can convince myself I'm out of the woods, and with the sun on my face I can slay mighty giants. Then I remember I'm still lost in the forest and it's dark. The wood has witches, and other evils. Everyone else had left or passed out around half five, so I pinched a can of beer that didn't belong to me and went to the nearest park to think about what I'd done, and what was said in the aftermath. I've been unsure of everything for so long that I'm tired of it. Living in fear and doubt is so very tiring. I don't want to be Kenneth Williams. He fought against it by pretending to be other people, and taking himself altogether too seriously. That's not the answer. That way madness lies. I must watch Overnight again. And if you haven't, you should watch it too. That entire film is one big warning never to take yourself too seriously. 5 comments|post comment

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