Who Is Andrew Beattie?

Aloha,

I’ll make this first section quick and to the point. I, Andrew Beattie, am a big fat dickhead. There, said it. The reason that I am a big fat dickhead will be obvious to those who happened to cross my meandering path on the Saturday just gone, people who I cannot apologise enough to for my drunken behaviour. I’ll begin by setting the scene. Late on Friday afternoon I asked a colleague, and good friend, Mike if he fancied meeting me for a few beers after he finished work on the Saturday. Mike, whose wife was down in London watching some Musical or another, was only too happy to oblige. Saturday arrived and my first big mistake of the day was not eating prior to arriving at the pub at 2pm. I vividly remember thinking that I would eat something early in the pub so that I would not get very drunk, very quickly. This was to be my last clear thought of the day. I’ll let me diary scribbles tell the rest of the story.

2:00 – Pig and Whistle Pub. No Food – Upset Stomach.  

3:26 – Mike has just said that Liverpool has lost its sense of humour. I’ll show him. 3 Pints.

3:45 – Small Work Related Rant. 4.5 Pints. No food.

4:00 – Told Mike and Tony that I cried about my Cat and potentially having to give him up a couple of nights earlier. 5.5 Pints. Still no food.

The next large blank stage in my notes is because we had moved to the bar of a very, very nice hotel across the road whose pleasant, well spoken and damn undeserving clientele witnessed me getting to around 8 pints and 1 rum and coke in a very short space of time, shouting loudly on my phone, being told to quieten down by the bar staff, insulting the bar staff, being told to shut up and still being allowed more drink. Drinking more at this stage was my second big mistake of the evening. I don’t remember any of the above events. They have since been retold to me. Somewhere or another I must have remembered my pad and decided to note down the following pearls of absolute wisdom.

7:30 – Now on my own. Rum and Coke. Started phoning through women on my phone.

8:15 – Refused more drink. Champagne at end of bar. Dislike Champagne and palm tree on bar. Told to fuck off several times by women whom I’ve called. Refused sex twice. Asked to leave.

I’m told at this point that I got a cab heading for home although I have no clue. I do however remember going to the pub on the way home for more alcohol and to meet Nick and Tank, two school friends who have since not taken my calls. Not going home was my third and last great mistake of the day. I woke with glass in my trousers the next day and so I’m likely to have smashed a pint glass or two which would explain my shunning. I also vaguely remember hugging a stranger in the pub and so I may well have been asked to leave here also. No man has ever been asked to leave this pub before me. I may never go to this pub again.

Now I know this is hardly the biggest pissed up night in the history of man but the problem is that this wasn’t a night, this was the middle of the fucking day, and so I have now added something else to my list which unlike the rest of my list I’ll be taking seriously-ish and will attempt to stick to.

12. Stop binge drinking with immediate effect. In fact, stop drinking at all or at least until you can have one drink without following it with ten more.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest I’ll let you know about some other stuff I’ve done since I last sat here, in my usual spot, writing this thing of mine. Work is what I’ve done, work. It does however feel good to be back in work and if I hadn’t got totally plastered at the weekend I would have written sooner and would now be getting some final bits done for my website which isn’t live as I write this. Last week this would have annoyed me, this week it doesn’t. The reason it doesn’t is that I’ve given up on rushing it; it will be live when it’s live and not a moment before. I’m sure I’ll care again by Thursday, once all the alcohol has left my system.

I’m now going to depart from this week’s me writing to me effort to go and continue to read the ‘The Year of the Jouncer’ by Simon Gray. It’s the second in a four book memoir and it is fucking brilliant. In fact it’s that good that I’m not doing any more work for my site until its finished and so I’ll only have myself to blame once again, which is the story of my fucking life.

Until next time,

Don’t binge drink, it’s not cool,

Andrew