Christmas day is always a day that for some reason lets the disciplines evaporate and allow for binge consumption of food and beverage to be entertained. This one was no exception. Hydration too was paramount under the blazing yellow ball up in the sky as the mercury started to rise and being given a carton of Stella Artois stubbies as a gift didn’t help matters neither!
What happened to handkerchiefs and ‘Blue Stratus’ after shave lotion as presents from your local pharmacy like yesteryear?
Cameron and LClaire arrived for brunch mid-morning to kick start the festivities and the juice of choice to wash down the ham and cheese filled croissant was a beer. Everyone was conscious that not pacing oneself would result in some kind of drunk and disorderly behaviour quicker than planned, however, the temptation to say, “oh bugger it, it’s Christmas Day and I’ve earnt it” led into a second ale, then another.
BClaire’s clan arrived for the main course of the day, bar-b-q chicken and potato salad; coleslaw and shaved ham on a bone. Dessert was just as easy with strawberries and ice cream. Beers took a back seat position as bubbles were corked, poured and glasses raised to salute peace on earth and goodwill to mankind. By now the weather had done a complete one eighty with grey clouds shedding tears of joy. The sides of the gazebo were affixed to protect from the elements and one by one, the party of revellers dispersed leaving four of us to continue on … or drink more if you didn’t get the gist of it. I would also imagine that the same story would have played out across the lands not too dissimilar to ours.
Beer turned to red wine and red wine turned to Jamaican Rum interrupted by a cup of tea before positioning the body into the sleep position. With two extra’s in the caravan staying over, it didn’t take long for the air to become stale and the feeling of uneasiness from a gut full of liquids to remind me of how weak I was not to keep the discipline of drinking in moderation versus binge.
At some ungodly hour, BClaire successfully navigated her way over to the toilet ablutions to be sick, why she just didn’t stick her head out of the awning door to chuck and let the bird life feast on it in the morning, who knows! I too contemplated such when I went looking for her but didn’t and that was the mistake I made. Like a barrel being tossed around in an ocean storm, my barrel was getting swirled around from the tossing and turning at trying to get comfortable so as not to puke.
Before I knew it, birds started singing and I had wondered if at all I had been to sleep. I wasn’t hung over as such, more the soak pit sloth feeling, life around the camp on this new day would be a long one I was thinking. Venturing wearily over to the ablutions again and standing at the urinals just minding my own business, doing my business – this three year old stepped up onto the step and went about his, business.
Catching him looking up at me, I returned the smile to hear him say, “I spewed last night.”
Shit, how much alcohol did he drink?
Camp chit chat at the camp urinals … no dicking around!