So to give a bit of background to this picture of the back of someone's head...
Hibs have won The Scottish Cup for the first time in 114 years and everyone connected with the club in any way shape or form has headed back to Leith for the party to end all parties that everyone had dreamt would happen.
People are raving on the Zebra Crossing outside The Harp and Castle while buses and cars are getting covered in every carbonated alcoholic beverage from Babycham to Prosecco and while I caught my breath, I tried to have a chat with one of the police officers who had arrived en masse with their batons drawn just in case the #exuberance got a wee bit too #exuberant for Police Scotland's liking or The Rangers released another statement, whichever came first.
Later on we head back to a mate's hotel for a bit of a private party where I developed a taste for a bottle of maple flavoured Jim Beam that had been brought along for the occasion. I never normally drink whisky or bourbon straight but the maple took the edge off just enough that I was able to do my best Tinie Tempah impression by drinking from the bottle.
There's an internationally known author in the bar who I'd met once before in Sweden after Hibs were knocked out of Europe by Elfsborg. I remember him because he told me to cheer up (not to mention I've read his books) but he doesn't remember me and he hasn't read my blog. I know this because my mate's later told me that I asked him.
At some point during this exchange I've gone to the toilet and gotten locked in there. In the dark. I've done my best to get down on my hands and knees (by falling off the toilet) to find the pieces of the locking mechanism that I'd heard scatter onto the floor behind me as I came in. I finally had to admit defeat when my mate tries to talk me through the intricacies of putting the lock back together before he finally kicked the door in after I allegedly admitted to being scared of the dark, which is where he found me with my trousers round my ankles, the toilet seat in one hand and the remaining parts of the locking mechanism in the other.
I've gone back to the bar after this and struck up a brief conversation with the author again before the maple flavoured Jim Beam has the effect of rendering me unconscious. The author asks my mate if I'm OK after I've slumped to the floor and my brother announces to everyone that they should ignore me as I'm just attention seeking before I'm gently kicked into the recovery position which is where I remain until sometime later when I'm helped to bed (albeit, apparently, with a brief stop after half a dozen stairs to allow me to 'rest').
I wake up a few hours later and the first question that came to mind when I woke up wasn't 'Where am I?' or 'Who am I in bed with?', it was 'Where are my shoes?'. I eventually found them at the foot of the bed after returning from the same toilet I'd wrecked the night before for an early morning wee.
The effort of getting out of bed, going down and then climbing back upstairs proved to be too much for me and I realised that I was going to throw up. What was worse was that I also realised that I wouldn't make it back downstairs in time so I did the only thing I could and carefully took aim at what might be the smallest piece of porcelain masquerading as a sink and emptied the remainder of my stomach down the drain.
After getting back into bed I realised that throughout this entire event and all the commotion I'd made, the person I'd shared the bed with who I had never laid eyes on before in my life, has never moved a muscle. I'm pretty sure he hadn't taken so much as a breath and I started to think he was, in fact, dead. On the other hand I was merely dying so I made my peace with the situation and got back into bed to try and recover in time for the Cup Final Parade down Leith Walk.
*As it turned out the gentleman in question wasn't dead but was in fact the heavy sleeping actor Tam Dean Burn who had a small part in Scottish soap opera 'River City' and is a long-time friend of internationally known author Irvine Welsh who kicked me into the recovery position and still hasn't read my blog.
Hibs have won The Scottish Cup for the first time in 114 years and everyone connected with the club in any way shape or form has headed back to Leith for the party to end all parties that everyone had dreamt would happen.
People are raving on the Zebra Crossing outside The Harp and Castle while buses and cars are getting covered in every carbonated alcoholic beverage from Babycham to Prosecco and while I caught my breath, I tried to have a chat with one of the police officers who had arrived en masse with their batons drawn just in case the #exuberance got a wee bit too #exuberant for Police Scotland's liking or The Rangers released another statement, whichever came first.
Later on we head back to a mate's hotel for a bit of a private party where I developed a taste for a bottle of maple flavoured Jim Beam that had been brought along for the occasion. I never normally drink whisky or bourbon straight but the maple took the edge off just enough that I was able to do my best Tinie Tempah impression by drinking from the bottle.
There's an internationally known author in the bar who I'd met once before in Sweden after Hibs were knocked out of Europe by Elfsborg. I remember him because he told me to cheer up (not to mention I've read his books) but he doesn't remember me and he hasn't read my blog. I know this because my mate's later told me that I asked him.
At some point during this exchange I've gone to the toilet and gotten locked in there. In the dark. I've done my best to get down on my hands and knees (by falling off the toilet) to find the pieces of the locking mechanism that I'd heard scatter onto the floor behind me as I came in. I finally had to admit defeat when my mate tries to talk me through the intricacies of putting the lock back together before he finally kicked the door in after I allegedly admitted to being scared of the dark, which is where he found me with my trousers round my ankles, the toilet seat in one hand and the remaining parts of the locking mechanism in the other.
I've gone back to the bar after this and struck up a brief conversation with the author again before the maple flavoured Jim Beam has the effect of rendering me unconscious. The author asks my mate if I'm OK after I've slumped to the floor and my brother announces to everyone that they should ignore me as I'm just attention seeking before I'm gently kicked into the recovery position which is where I remain until sometime later when I'm helped to bed (albeit, apparently, with a brief stop after half a dozen stairs to allow me to 'rest').
I wake up a few hours later and the first question that came to mind when I woke up wasn't 'Where am I?' or 'Who am I in bed with?', it was 'Where are my shoes?'. I eventually found them at the foot of the bed after returning from the same toilet I'd wrecked the night before for an early morning wee.
The effort of getting out of bed, going down and then climbing back upstairs proved to be too much for me and I realised that I was going to throw up. What was worse was that I also realised that I wouldn't make it back downstairs in time so I did the only thing I could and carefully took aim at what might be the smallest piece of porcelain masquerading as a sink and emptied the remainder of my stomach down the drain.
After getting back into bed I realised that throughout this entire event and all the commotion I'd made, the person I'd shared the bed with who I had never laid eyes on before in my life, has never moved a muscle. I'm pretty sure he hadn't taken so much as a breath and I started to think he was, in fact, dead. On the other hand I was merely dying so I made my peace with the situation and got back into bed to try and recover in time for the Cup Final Parade down Leith Walk.
*As it turned out the gentleman in question wasn't dead but was in fact the heavy sleeping actor Tam Dean Burn who had a small part in Scottish soap opera 'River City' and is a long-time friend of internationally known author Irvine Welsh who kicked me into the recovery position and still hasn't read my blog.
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