Delirium tremens

I just can't understand what went wrong,my unpatented cure-all never let me down before,until now that is.It works so well that I take it every morning,purely as a preventative
measure,you'll understand,without fail.Yes,a tumbler of Paddy and a few cans of cider and all's
right with the world,I'd recommend it to anyone.All I can think of is that I must have got a dodgy pint somewhere,come to think of it,that ninth pint on Saturday afternoon looked a bit flat.
Still,what can you do when you're allowed drink AND smoke in every establishment,would'nt it
be the height of ignorance not to.We all know the English beer is like piss,and their" shorts"
measures would'nt satisfy a gnat,which is why any normal drinker has to order "doubles",but I
still should'nt feel this bad.It can only have been a bad pint,or else some hussy dropped me a
"roofie" with a view to taking advantage of me.

Even if I could remember much about it,I can't talk about the weekend because as anyone
who has ever been on an outing knows,"what happens on tour stays on tour.",thems the rules.
Besides,certain people take an occasional interest in this site,despite stating a preference for
one Mr.G.B.and one particular brand of cigarettes.Its a sad day when one is relegated in ones
own family behind a bleedin' gorilla."Why can't YOU be more like that nice Mr. Bananas or the
gentle Dr. Maroon or the witty Mr.Major.",they say.I say,"a pox on you all,why be nice,gentle
or witty where vitriol,sarcasm and obnoxiousness will do ",so,on with the story.

We stayed at the Thistle Golden Valley,formally THE Golden Valley,scene of many an
extraordinary celebration,most notably in the eighties,when Galwayman Danny Heaslip,whose
horse "For Auction" having won the Champion Hurdle,promptly rang the manager to order
"A piano in the lounge and put two hundred bottles of Champagne on ice."Its gone down-hill
since and seems to cater mostly for Whodies* nowadays,but who are a bunch of Paddies to
complain.At about four o'clock on Saturday morning,I decided to go to bed early,having sobered
myself up in a card school.I was bunked-up with "the Purse" Sweeney,so called because of his
legendary meaness and frugality,and because of his use of a purse long before such use became
fashionable among certain European gentlemen.This was the purse's first ever trip abroad,but
he was determined not to miss it as he had been hearing all about last years craic for so long.

All the banging and kicking in the world elicited no response from my room,so I headed
down to reception before awakening the entire hotel.Three doors down the corridor was the room of two other members of our party,Matt and Steve.Steve had gone into town,and when I
last saw Matt,he was guzzling Vodka at the bar with a group of Russians,teaching them Irish
rebel songs while learning a few Russian ones,much to the annoyance of the other residents.

I should have known something was wrong when Matt's door was slightly ajar,but nothing
on this earth would have prepared me for the horror scene I was about to witness.I heard the
gurgling as my eyes fell on the prone figure of poor Matt,his pillow a mass of crimson,red
saliva/liquid bubbling out of his nose and mouth."Sweet holy mother of gee,they're after cutting
his throat and robbing him.",I thought to myself.A vaguely familiar sickly -sweet smell filled my
senses and I felt my knees start to buckle.



I'm really sorry to have to leave it here as my visibility is deteriorating,and while the
shaking is not manifest in the key-board,it is nontheless having a severe and adverse
effect on my typing finger.