Diary of a Drunk Boy | The Wayward Weekend

2 Mins read

I’d arranged to meet my old friend Storm at Embankment – we both had some time to kill so she suggested that we go to Sloane Square to meet her friend Sandy.

Sandy was sitting up in bed when we arrived; a petite girl with dark hair and equally as dark eyes. We all chatted and drank while the girls got themselves ready to go out before getting into a taxi and heading towards Soho.

We drove through Piccadilly, the lights of the circus made promises of the night ahead.

Propping up the bar in Café Boheme on the corner where Greek Street meets Old Compton, we drank indeterminately into the night, laughing into glasses of beer and absinthe.

I woke up at Sandy’s.

The room was stale with the smell of cigarettes from the night before and the empty bottles that littered the floor implied we hadn’t stopped when we got home. My memory of the night before was hazy to say the least. I couldn’t really piece it together.

[pullquote align=”right”]We drove through Piccadilly, the lights of the circus made promises of the night ahead.[/pullquote]We had spent the afternoon in the house, avoiding reality or anything that might break the inebriated spell we were under. It seems the idea of sobering up gets scarier the longer you go.

We were in pretty deep, sitting around in our underwear drinking sparkling white wine out of the only glasses which hadn’t been smashed or filled with cigarette butts.

That night we ended up in Camden watching The Bloody Beetroots play at one of my favourite venues, Koko. To be honest, The Beetroots were a blur, but we must have stayed ’til the bitter end as we were forced to move the party back to the house once again.

We ordered two bottles of wine and a packet of cigarettes to be delivered to the house. Did you know you can ‘dial a drink’ when everywhere else is closed?

I woke up the following morning and I didn’t really know what I was still doing there. I’d been expected to attend a charity event with my sister on the Sunday. I arrived to show my face then made my excuses.

But something brought me back to the house.

I walked up the stairs and into the flat as the door was on the latch. No one seemed to be at home. Wandering through the house, I found Sandy in the bathtub.

She seemed unalarmed by my presence. She just sat there and spoke to me like we’d known each other for years. Reviewing the events of the previous night, she looked at me with those big dark eyes.

She stood up. I held a towel up for her as she eased towards me. It was nothing more than a kiss. The towel fell away between us. I cradled her wet, weightless body in my arms and let her fingers run through my hair.

I was in need of a cold shower but I opted for another drink.


Featured photo courtesy of Soho House Group

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