Day 25. 62 pages, 30,356 words.
Well, that was a waste of a weekend. Okay, not really, but I am disappointed in myself and wonder if I will ever learn.
Saturday was fun. Actually got out into the forest with Wump, hiked through to the shops and bought picnic stuff and had a picnic before hiking home by way of a cliff and some of the fields near our house, that apparently Wump had been wanting to walk over for weeks and was totally thrilled to finally do.
Then we left the girls with mommo and headed into town to see off our friend Mr. Bloom in style. Which was a debacle that started badly and ended worse.
Okay, that’s overly dramatic. It started with me getting in a jallu-off with a barmaid, and ended with me having an obscene hangover and spending most of Sunday lying down. I have officially reached the point where I cannot drink with young people anymore and I hope this will be the only wake-up call I need. Also, I absolutely should have taken the ride home when Mrs. Hatboy left, because that would have saved me €40 and a lot of illness.
Yeah, upon arriving at this pub in Kallio and strolling up to the bar and looking uncertain, I was asked by the barmaid, “what would you like? Jallu? Double jallu?”
I made the mistake of laughing and saying “TRIPLE JALLU!”
Even the extremely out-of-it barfly sitting nearby wondered about the legality of this, but I did end up with a tumbler full of jallu (jaloviina), and that was where it all started to go downhill.
This is the last partially civil thing I did all night.
A round of Munchkin later (Mr. Bloom had frequented this pub in the past and so this was not the first time Munchkin had been played there), drinking continued unabated and somehow conversation went around to three-star jallu versus one-star jallu. It turned out that the pub we were in didn’t have the “good stuff”, so I went to another pub down the road on a little side-quest to try both brands.
They did undoubtedly have distinct flavours. Not sure which one I would say was better.
After that (and after almost coming to blows with the bouncer at the second pub because I started to wander out of the door with my two glasses of jallu in order to take them back to the first bar so everyone could taste them), I returned to the original place and for some inexpressible reason continued to drink.
My phone flawlessly captures what it is like when I drink.
I have a vague memory of being apologetically useless in the taxi, first trying to find cash in my pockets (what do you know, it had all been consumed in liquid form) and then trying to pay using the wrong sort of bank card. I must have paid, though, because I have a receipt. Then I evidently collapsed into bed because that was where I woke up, and that was where I stayed until about two o’clock in the afternoon, with breaks to drink bottles of water, to go outside and throw up all the water I’d been drinking, and to post woeful status updates on Facebook.
And this coming weekend is my brother-in-law’s 30th birthday. Oh God no.