Wisdom is a memory pillow and wetsafe mattress protector
It was 4 am and over a Talisker on ice Donna asked me what makes me happy.
Late night metaphysical questions are best discussed naked under the covers with the lights out. But it seemed rude to leave Alan McCarroll in the lounge listening alone to my favourite Mark Oliver Everett album.
So fully clothed I explained that the state of happiness is not a life ambition. The pursuit of wisdom and inner enlightenment (notwithstanding loadsasex and loadsamoney) is the path for the righteous.
And I reflected on the day just passed, the Archers Sleepcentre annual day out.
I was amazed that Dean had slaughtered all and sundry at Laserquest. But with Mr B as his wing man, Dean with unlimited ammo, and a bad mood, what else should I expect? An outstanding performance.
I came off the go-karts high with the buzz of adrenalin and the exhilarating expectation of the fastest lap of the day. “I get bored after one lap” said Alison as I pulled off my helmet. Alison’s extra curricular leisure activities are legendary. Deflated in an instant; could I have set my excitement and pleasure bars so low?
A different set of characters thrived at the dinner dance. I am eternally grateful to Lindsay and Melanie for teaching my John to dance. So often did Lindsay’s twirls end in a half Nelson. She manfully persisted. Of course putting a 52kg ingenue into a half Nelson was hardly impressive. Beating Sharon at arm wrestling is quite something more impressive.
Sharon was getting picked up all night which you might consider flattering. But our guys, who’s sole knowledge of the female psyche is the Daily Star women’s page were picking her up and carrying her off on their shoulders.
Unfortunately they broke her foot and she had to be put down. Any time now Glaxo Smithkline Beecham will invent a stookie with a 6 inch heel. But too late for Sharon.
The night ended with the ritual cocktail at Corinthians. Only the scheme dogs were left. Herr Hunter, the leader of the scheme dog pack had retired. So I did feel exposed.
We toured the gaming tables and sipped our cocktails and Morgan’s and cokes. And I was shown the hustler, the whore and the drug dealer. “Come on”, I said to Alan, ” surely nice people like us go to night clubs too?” Donna laughed.
But Donna had left her purse at the hotel. How are we going to get passed the concierge at 3am in the morning? No problem to Mr McCarroll. Galvanised by a black pudding supper and cheese on chips Alan burst in and exclaimed, “This is Donna Taggart. There’s been a MURDERR!” :Taggart in Glasgow, works every time.
5am, our metaphysical encounter over, Donna’s husband collected the last two standing. I hid in case I got the blame.
Exhausted I fell in to bed. My head sank into my TKT Memory foam pillow and a wave of lassitude and torpor hit fast. Oh no I thought. I really need a pee. But safe in the knowledge of a Protect a Bed wetsafe mattress protector, I smiled and let my body do its worst (snore).
Editors note: any reference to persons living or dead is absolutely true.
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