I once, when I was at University, drank so much home-made wine on an empty stomach that I passed out and vomited vertically, horizontally and every which way inbetween. There was a song, “Chinchy’s gonna chunder…” which was sung to me as I, in a toilet cubicle, did just that. I vomited on a bench outside our University department. And then rode a bus home, four miles, the last mile or so of which I was swallowing back even more vomit.
I then passed out for 18 hours or so, at the end of my bed. With the lights on.
I think I could probably have died.
But I’d still rather all that than be the man who had reached a level of drunk this evening which saw him stand in the middle of the road and pass comment on the fast food advert on the bus shelter.
“99p for a burger! I wouldn’t have it with all that cheese on it. Look at all that cheese. It’s too much cheese.”
Some people become solemn drunks, some angry drunks, some violent. This man -cheeseophobic. Fromage intolerant. So much so that everyone needed to know. Everyone. It was clear to most people in town he hated cheese. Whether that was only the cheese on the burger, or all cheese was unclear. Likewise we didn’t know whether he hated cheese in his sober life or just when three or four sheets to the wind.
We may never know. He got in a taxi and asked to be taken to Mozambique. Which is possibly going to cost him. Or he might just have been racist as well as cheese-ist.
Although, they don’t eat a lot of cheese in Mozambique. There’s a website you can look it up on. Mozambique is 137th in the group of 154 countries they monitor the cheese production of.
They went chuffing mad for the stuff in 1987, though.
Anyway, drunk man hates cheese.
And I, apparently, have a new favourite website.