serving you two gentlemen.’
I knew as soon as she said it that I was in big, big trouble. I could feel the alcohol literally swimming around my brain. I was seeing double and when I said goodbye the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth properly. I just grinned at her like an idiot. It was the only thing I could think of doing.
Fortunately I managed to get through customs without any problems, we got on the connecting flight and a few minutes later we were in St John. As we reached the hotel in our taxi Cliff said to me, ‘Right, upstairs, quick wash and a change and I’ll see you in the bar, Brissy, in twenty-five minutes.’
‘Right,’ I slurred.
I had a quick shower, put my shirt on, put my darts in the top pocket and I was downstairs. The shower had sobered me up a bit but it was still only seven in the evening. We had a couple in the hotel bar, then we went for a throw in a nearby British Legion. We’d always look for these sorts of places because we knew they’d have a dart board in them.
I was still pissed. Those couple of beers in the hotel had topped me right up again. I was wrecked. I ordered a pint and stood at the oche. After a few throws I said, ‘I don’t feel like playing, Cliff.’
‘Nor do I,’ he replied. Fuck it.’
This was my second mistake. I should have kept on practising. We went back to the bar and Cliff was off ordering drinks for us again.
‘Any heavy rock round here?’ he said to the barman after a few more jars. Cliff loves his heavy rock. We were told to go to a rock bar just down the road and it was all boom, boom, boom, boom and crashing guitars. I really didn’t need it, it was giving me a headache, so I started playing some guys at pool for three dollars a pop, and beating them. Every time I won I passed the money down to Cliff and he bought the drinks. I got in a rhythm after a bit, I had my second wind, and was downing beers and spirits one after the other – and all the while beating these blokes at pool. They must have been pretty poor players to lose to me, the state I was in. At the end of the night the band’s singer announced, ‘We’d like to thank Eric and Cliff for the drinks,’ and the whole place cheered, clapped and slapped us both on the back. Cliff, with all the money I was winning, was using it to buy the band free drinks, and anyone else who happened to want one. I looked at him and said, ‘You cheeky sod,’ but he just shrugged.
We left and went into a couple more late-night bars and had a few more drinks, by which time I was having trouble standing up. I’d completely lost it: I didn’t know what day it was, I didn’t know where we were, what country we were in, or anything. We finally arrived in a bar which had eighteen optics lined up, all different spirits.
‘Right, Eric,’ Cliff said, ‘let’s finish off here. We’ll go through these optics starting from the left and then we’ll call it a day.’
So we had vodka and something, brandy and something else, whisky, gin, rum, Bacardi … and on and on it went until we had done the lot: eighteen rounds of eighteen different drinks, all big measures compared to what you’re served back in England.
Then Cliff discovered there was an Indian open nearby. I don’t remember anything about this at all, but I do remember waking up the next morning to go to the toilet and seeing this half-eaten curry on a chair. I don’t remember buying it or eating it, and I can’t believe I managed to get back to my room, but it was there on the chair.
And it stayed there for another day and a half because for the next thirty-six hours I couldn’t get out of bed. Cliff knocked on my door at eight in the morning, asking if I was going down for breakfast. He was fine, but I couldn’t move. I had alcohol poisoning and was shaking like a dog having a dump. Looking back I should’ve gone to hospital, but I dealt with it in my room – it was just water, water, water, water, water, water, one glass after
I knew as soon as she said it that I was in big, big trouble. I could feel the alcohol literally swimming around my brain. I was seeing double and when I said goodbye the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth properly. I just grinned at her like an idiot. It was the only thing I could think of doing.
Fortunately I managed to get through customs without any problems, we got on the connecting flight and a few minutes later we were in St John. As we reached the hotel in our taxi Cliff said to me, ‘Right, upstairs, quick wash and a change and I’ll see you in the bar, Brissy, in twenty-five minutes.’
‘Right,’ I slurred.
I had a quick shower, put my shirt on, put my darts in the top pocket and I was downstairs. The shower had sobered me up a bit but it was still only seven in the evening. We had a couple in the hotel bar, then we went for a throw in a nearby British Legion. We’d always look for these sorts of places because we knew they’d have a dart board in them.
I was still pissed. Those couple of beers in the hotel had topped me right up again. I was wrecked. I ordered a pint and stood at the oche. After a few throws I said, ‘I don’t feel like playing, Cliff.’
‘Nor do I,’ he replied. Fuck it.’
This was my second mistake. I should have kept on practising. We went back to the bar and Cliff was off ordering drinks for us again.
‘Any heavy rock round here?’ he said to the barman after a few more jars. Cliff loves his heavy rock. We were told to go to a rock bar just down the road and it was all boom, boom, boom, boom and crashing guitars. I really didn’t need it, it was giving me a headache, so I started playing some guys at pool for three dollars a pop, and beating them. Every time I won I passed the money down to Cliff and he bought the drinks. I got in a rhythm after a bit, I had my second wind, and was downing beers and spirits one after the other – and all the while beating these blokes at pool. They must have been pretty poor players to lose to me, the state I was in. At the end of the night the band’s singer announced, ‘We’d like to thank Eric and Cliff for the drinks,’ and the whole place cheered, clapped and slapped us both on the back. Cliff, with all the money I was winning, was using it to buy the band free drinks, and anyone else who happened to want one. I looked at him and said, ‘You cheeky sod,’ but he just shrugged.
We left and went into a couple more late-night bars and had a few more drinks, by which time I was having trouble standing up. I’d completely lost it: I didn’t know what day it was, I didn’t know where we were, what country we were in, or anything. We finally arrived in a bar which had eighteen optics lined up, all different spirits.
‘Right, Eric,’ Cliff said, ‘let’s finish off here. We’ll go through these optics starting from the left and then we’ll call it a day.’
So we had vodka and something, brandy and something else, whisky, gin, rum, Bacardi … and on and on it went until we had done the lot: eighteen rounds of eighteen different drinks, all big measures compared to what you’re served back in England.
Then Cliff discovered there was an Indian open nearby. I don’t remember anything about this at all, but I do remember waking up the next morning to go to the toilet and seeing this half-eaten curry on a chair. I don’t remember buying it or eating it, and I can’t believe I managed to get back to my room, but it was there on the chair.
And it stayed there for another day and a half because for the next thirty-six hours I couldn’t get out of bed. Cliff knocked on my door at eight in the morning, asking if I was going down for breakfast. He was fine, but I couldn’t move. I had alcohol poisoning and was shaking like a dog having a dump. Looking back I should’ve gone to hospital, but I dealt with it in my room – it was just water, water, water, water, water, water, one glass after
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