Violently Ill

Extremities: The Lengths I Go To!

This extremity marks the low-point of my teenage years, the time I almost drank myself into oblivion.

It was the end of my first year at Burnley Habergham Sixth Form Centre and someone had organised an end of year “do”. Now I was never one of the more sociable kids, and it’s probably fair to say I drank less than the average kid.

But not that night.

No, I (along with a friend) had decided to get nicely drunk beforehand and then walk two miles down into town to Burnley Bank Hall Miners’ Working Men’s Club where the event was scheduled. I probably should admit here to stretching the truth with the word “Nicely”, as I don’t know where to place 4 cans of Kestrel Super Strength lager and a two litre bottle of Diamond White cider on the drinking scale.

Arriving to find the evening already in full swing, I stumbled in, to the bar, ordered a drink and took it outside “for some fresh air”. Nothing happened for a while, or maybe it did, but I was unaware of it, as the next I knew, I was waking up collapsed in a heap on the floor outside the front door surrounded by a pile of my own dinner and with the most awful headache.

“Never again!” I vowed the next morning, and it was true, well, until the next time.