Party, party
It’s that time of year again. The season when the drunks, like the leaves, change colour and fall. On the other hand, we’ve just spent a few hours of hilarity on evening patrol, waiting for some item of inebriated humanity to give us a faceful of abuse laden alcohol fumes, whereupon we promptly shop him to the coppers. They get an easy collar and we get a little instant justice for our abuser. Especially if said item shows poor enough judgement to step into the drivers seat.
Drunk drivers deserve all they get; hopefully before they kill some other poor mothers son or daughter. I’ve lost a number of good friends to people who thought it was okay to drink and drive, and have a real ‘burr up my arse’ about it, as Mrs S so colourfully puts it. Over the years I’ve come in for a lot of stick from people who consider me a bit prissy on the subject, but hell, if drunk drivers had killed half your best mates (This is unhappily true, and a source of much regret in my life), wouldn’t you be a bit critical too?
Lots of drunken bodies around despite the rain. Been there, done that. I often think that getting shitfaced is a way of coping with your failure to deal with grown up relationships, and perhaps life in general.
Nowadays I have no quarrel with an odd drink to loosen the inhibitions. This is fine, and a few glasses of Wine, Beer, or the occasional large single malt can smooth the edges of even the most tedious day. Sometimes this is an essential of existence.
Tonight was the night for half the office parties in town, and me and Dave my beat oppo have been roundly amused by the antics of the office partygoers. One chap tried to cross the road in front of us with his trousers (No underpants) around his ankles. Not a sight for the faint hearted I can tell you. His friends were trying to help him, but he kept on pushing them away and staggering onwards before falling over a small ornamental hedge that would not normally inconvenience an arthritic Dachshund. One of his friends fell over him into what might be considered an intimate embrace, which may shortly be posted on Youtube.com. Dave cracked up laughing and we had to pull the van over (Late evenings are almost always driven patrols) while we laughed until we were almost sick.
Despite all the drunks we saw no real aggro, although this might have something to do with the rain. It seems to dampen the martial ardour. Hopefully the coppers will have an easy night of it and the town centre sirens that punctuate my sleep will be few and far between. Ah me, another few days to survive and I’ve got five days off. Nighty night.
Drunk drivers deserve all they get; hopefully before they kill some other poor mothers son or daughter. I’ve lost a number of good friends to people who thought it was okay to drink and drive, and have a real ‘burr up my arse’ about it, as Mrs S so colourfully puts it. Over the years I’ve come in for a lot of stick from people who consider me a bit prissy on the subject, but hell, if drunk drivers had killed half your best mates (This is unhappily true, and a source of much regret in my life), wouldn’t you be a bit critical too?
Lots of drunken bodies around despite the rain. Been there, done that. I often think that getting shitfaced is a way of coping with your failure to deal with grown up relationships, and perhaps life in general.
Nowadays I have no quarrel with an odd drink to loosen the inhibitions. This is fine, and a few glasses of Wine, Beer, or the occasional large single malt can smooth the edges of even the most tedious day. Sometimes this is an essential of existence.
Tonight was the night for half the office parties in town, and me and Dave my beat oppo have been roundly amused by the antics of the office partygoers. One chap tried to cross the road in front of us with his trousers (No underpants) around his ankles. Not a sight for the faint hearted I can tell you. His friends were trying to help him, but he kept on pushing them away and staggering onwards before falling over a small ornamental hedge that would not normally inconvenience an arthritic Dachshund. One of his friends fell over him into what might be considered an intimate embrace, which may shortly be posted on Youtube.com. Dave cracked up laughing and we had to pull the van over (Late evenings are almost always driven patrols) while we laughed until we were almost sick.
Despite all the drunks we saw no real aggro, although this might have something to do with the rain. It seems to dampen the martial ardour. Hopefully the coppers will have an easy night of it and the town centre sirens that punctuate my sleep will be few and far between. Ah me, another few days to survive and I’ve got five days off. Nighty night.
2 Comments:
There was a time during my firefihghting career where I absolutely associated the sight of blood with the smell of beer. Calling Mr Pavlov!
I Know what you mean about drink drivers, my younger brother was knocked off a motorbike and very badley injured by a drunk driver who also had no insurance or tax. I say death to them all or atleast make them really pay for the pain/hurt they have caused.
Ian
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