Picture the scene...

The wee hours of the morning and a group of merry makers are stumbling out of a lovely little bar in Soho, having celebrated someone's birthday. Delicious (and ridiculously cheap) food in Chinatown, excellent banter and copious amounts of alcohol and everyone is happy.

I espy a random man holding a picture of a melon, mounted on a stick (for easy grip purposes I presume?). At that point, I can't think of anything else, I want the melon stick.

PPQ (shouting in drunken voice): Hey, can I have your melon stick, I want your melon stick?

Melon Man: No, it's mine

PPQ: Awww come one, purleeeease?

Melon Man (looking distraught and taking cover, crouched by a car): Noooooo, that woman wants my melons

Melon Man's distress was apparent, and I couldn't bear to be the cause any longer, so I left the poor man alone.

Our happy gang proceeded to head towards bus stops, some of us paraphrasing Baby got Back by Sir Mix a lot, for something FAR ruder.

A good night was had by all.

Of course, up until this morning when my buddy reminded me, I had no recollection of the aforementioned incident. But I just had to write it down for posterity, because this is happy drunken behaviour and that's the type of drunken behaviour that needs to be remembered. Not the humiliating, toe-curling, self loathing stuff.

|