Monday, July 31, 2006
I WAS SORE, I WAS FEELING ILL, I WAS REALLY HAPPY
I'm really struggling to write this, but I've gotta get it out of my system and I'm sure some people might even have a slight interest in how my weekend went.
You know, the kind of morbid interest usually reserved for some alcoholic who's passed out in his drunken stupor, somewhere in the way of the general public's thoroughfare, and vomited.
I was really looking forward to this weekend and only had modest expectations and goals.
I wanted to spend the evening in my local with my mates and drink beer like I used to and like many people do every Saturday night ( so often taken for granted ).
I also wanted to spend one night in my house and not in a hospital.
As disorienting as both of these were, I none the less achieved these goals convincingly.
Let any man who doubts my ability to consume elephantine quantities of alcohol and remain standing, even with my partially operational legs ( even if it was just standing for a bit to take the pressure off my very sore arse without impersonating the World Trade Centre Tower One ), and my drinking bicep inoperative ( must admit my arm did get sore from holding the beer up, gotta work on that one ), come forth and sound his suspicion for all the world to hear.
Let this man cast his aspersions and beware, as my witnesses will vanquish these slanderous utterances.
Firstly, I spent four hours in a photography course with only one break, when I was able to get up on my crutches and stretch my legs and then rather flattened buttocks.
It wasn't too bad as I did actually learn something and should be able to apply it to my photographic exploits.
I then made my way to Clarence St. as my battered body really needed a rest before embarking on my alcohol fuelled 'lost time' incident.
At the local, I met up with various people who had visited me in hospital and much merry making was had.
The publican Sandra, even shouted me a beer and considering this as rare as a solar eclipse, I made mine a pint.
One thing I must mention about the beer quality at the Empress.
It's not very good.
Especially the Carlton draught.
Ever since my trip to Tassie last year, I have refused to ingest this vile liquid and have preferred the Victoria Bitter. ( neither of these is of half the quality of my beloved Cascade Red, but for some inexplicable reason it is not available on the big island )
Some believe that the age of the pipes in the hotel is to blame for the incredibly savage hangovers it produces.
Others blame the beer itself.
Whichever it is, it certainly gave birth to a bouncing Mike Tyson of a hangover sometime during my slumber.
The round of shots from Mick Dabbs didn't make matters better I must say, nor the port offered by Gino at home after the pub had shut.
Having said that, one doesn't go there for the beer does one?
No, it's more for the motley collection of crazies and freaks and their stories and opinions.
Another little pleasure I indulged in was the drunken record playing in the middle of the night.
Hadn't done that for over four months!
Sunday.
I was roused about three times by Cam and eventually rose from the land of the living dead to partake in the tea and eggs on toast that were on offer.
Being on the outside, I took advantage of the shop four doors down and bought some Swiss cheese, Hungarian salami, Italian semi sun dried tomatoes and fresh bread rolls.
I managed to put on a bit of a spread for mum and the collection of friends who'd come to visit, although I did find using the knife a bit difficult due to my broken fingers not being able to fully curl around the handle.
Oh well, something else I have to get used to.
I eventually made my way back to the hospital and immediately crashed for a couple of hours.
All in all a beaut weekend out, but extremely taxing on the body.
I found that especially on Monday, my joints, muscles and fracture sites were quite painful, but I've managed to build up my endurance a bit, so the pain is just a necessary evil.
This afternoon, after physio, it all hit me at once.
I spent quite a few hours sleeping it all off and didn't stir until about six.
So another week in hospital begins, hopefully one of the last ones.
.
You know, the kind of morbid interest usually reserved for some alcoholic who's passed out in his drunken stupor, somewhere in the way of the general public's thoroughfare, and vomited.
I was really looking forward to this weekend and only had modest expectations and goals.
I wanted to spend the evening in my local with my mates and drink beer like I used to and like many people do every Saturday night ( so often taken for granted ).
I also wanted to spend one night in my house and not in a hospital.
As disorienting as both of these were, I none the less achieved these goals convincingly.
Let any man who doubts my ability to consume elephantine quantities of alcohol and remain standing, even with my partially operational legs ( even if it was just standing for a bit to take the pressure off my very sore arse without impersonating the World Trade Centre Tower One ), and my drinking bicep inoperative ( must admit my arm did get sore from holding the beer up, gotta work on that one ), come forth and sound his suspicion for all the world to hear.
Let this man cast his aspersions and beware, as my witnesses will vanquish these slanderous utterances.
Firstly, I spent four hours in a photography course with only one break, when I was able to get up on my crutches and stretch my legs and then rather flattened buttocks.
It wasn't too bad as I did actually learn something and should be able to apply it to my photographic exploits.
I then made my way to Clarence St. as my battered body really needed a rest before embarking on my alcohol fuelled 'lost time' incident.
At the local, I met up with various people who had visited me in hospital and much merry making was had.
The publican Sandra, even shouted me a beer and considering this as rare as a solar eclipse, I made mine a pint.
One thing I must mention about the beer quality at the Empress.
It's not very good.
Especially the Carlton draught.
Ever since my trip to Tassie last year, I have refused to ingest this vile liquid and have preferred the Victoria Bitter. ( neither of these is of half the quality of my beloved Cascade Red, but for some inexplicable reason it is not available on the big island )
Some believe that the age of the pipes in the hotel is to blame for the incredibly savage hangovers it produces.
Others blame the beer itself.
Whichever it is, it certainly gave birth to a bouncing Mike Tyson of a hangover sometime during my slumber.
The round of shots from Mick Dabbs didn't make matters better I must say, nor the port offered by Gino at home after the pub had shut.
Having said that, one doesn't go there for the beer does one?
No, it's more for the motley collection of crazies and freaks and their stories and opinions.
Another little pleasure I indulged in was the drunken record playing in the middle of the night.
Hadn't done that for over four months!
Sunday.
I was roused about three times by Cam and eventually rose from the land of the living dead to partake in the tea and eggs on toast that were on offer.
Being on the outside, I took advantage of the shop four doors down and bought some Swiss cheese, Hungarian salami, Italian semi sun dried tomatoes and fresh bread rolls.
I managed to put on a bit of a spread for mum and the collection of friends who'd come to visit, although I did find using the knife a bit difficult due to my broken fingers not being able to fully curl around the handle.
Oh well, something else I have to get used to.
I eventually made my way back to the hospital and immediately crashed for a couple of hours.
All in all a beaut weekend out, but extremely taxing on the body.
I found that especially on Monday, my joints, muscles and fracture sites were quite painful, but I've managed to build up my endurance a bit, so the pain is just a necessary evil.
This afternoon, after physio, it all hit me at once.
I spent quite a few hours sleeping it all off and didn't stir until about six.
So another week in hospital begins, hopefully one of the last ones.
.
