Return of THE FEAR!

[StoutAndAle]

Part Three.

So there I am, lads. Standing in the hall with a filthy mop head. The flop sweat on my brow is monsoon-like. I hardly walked home in nip. I'm not that much of a..... please..... Christ, tell me I didn't.

I dash into my room and open the wardrobe. I'm not a neat freak or anything but I firmly believe that everything has a place so I'm fairly rigid about how I hang my clothes, place my shoes, stack my jeans. I have a very specific way of folding t-shirts and god help anyone who tries to do it for me. Did I mention that I was very much single at this point? I stand there glaring at the wardrobe. Everything is in its right order. I check the washing basket, no sign of my jeans, t-shirt or underwear from last night. Fuck.

I go to the living room and start frantically searching under the couch, behind the telly, the stereo, the CD rack. Nothing. Into the kitchen – I check the washing machine, under the table, the fridge (who knows?) and come up empty. I start to spiral a little bit. I am drenched in sweat again. I can't put the last part of the night together. Anxiety has me by the throat and THE FEAR has me by the balls.

"Stop. Stop. Stop. Every problem has a solution" I say out loud over and over.

I light a cigarette and try to think. I look at the counter and see the wok. The HUGE dirty wok. What does this have to do with my night? Did I trade a Chinaman my Levis for a cooking implement? This would be a low point.

I am soaked in a mixture of panic/shame/DT sweat so I have to have my third shower of the morning. This time checking from cuts or bruises. If I strolled home naked, I'd surely have some signs of physical wear and tear but no, not a mark on me.

After dressing I have to wrestle with the wok to get it into a black bin bag. It barely squeezes in. It's humongous, did I mention that? I decide to double-bag it, grab the mop head too and pick up my keys, phone and wallet as I..... Hang on. Phone, keys and wallet – these would have been in my jeans. Where the fuck are my clothes?!

I can't dwell on it now, I need to get out of the flat before I start sweating again. I haul the stuff down the 2 flights of stairs to where the bins are and drop the mop head in. Not a bother. The wok is going to be more difficult. I start fighting with it but no matter what way I turn it, I am no closer to getting it in. My upstairs neighbour appears and has to squeeze past me and my wok on the turn of the stairs. He turns to look back at me shoving the black bag with a two-foot long timber handle sticking out of it into the bin. I looks like I've killed Long John Silver and I'm now trying to dispose of his corpse.

"The oul bins are getting small and smaller, aren't they?" says I

"Owls?" he asks "The birds?"

Fuck it, he's Norwegian.

"Yeah, no I mean, you know yourself. Late start for you today is it, Torben?" says I. He works in a call centre.

"No. Normal time. 10am"

It is then that I realise that I haven't looked at a clock or a watch all day. I'm operating on 5 or 6 hours of sleep after a bender where I hadn't eaten all day.

"Oh right. Have a good one"

"Yes, you too. That will not fit in the bin, I think. And it will not leave room for my bag this week if it does"

"Yeah, you're right" Go fuck yourself, you Scandi prick! "Thanks for the heads up".

I have a moment of inspiration. There's a building site around the corner. I can lob this thing into their skip, they won't mind, I'm sure they let people do it all the time.

Out onto the Cork city streets with my cargo. The early September air is nice and cool but the sun is shining. I start to feel better about things. I'll get rid of this bag, get a bite to eat, go sit in Fitzgerald's Park and I'll be grand. I turn the corner to the building site. There's 4 or 5 lads there but they'll all heading toward Centra. God be with builders and their internal body clock for tea/breakfast rolls. This is going to be easier than I thought. Getting to the skip, I say a silent prayer and launch the bag up and over the top. It makes a hell of a noise.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!

Job's a good-un. Now to get on with the rest of my day – the park, some sunshine...

"Hey! You!"

Can't possibly be me.

"You! Throwing shit into the skip there!"

OK, it could possibly be me.

"Yeah?" I says, turning to face the only builder in Ireland who doesn't take 9 breaks a day. Desperately trying to affect nonchalance.

"The cheek of you dumping stuff in our skip" says he.

"You didn't see me do it"

"I fuckin'-well did. Like a hammer throw in the Olympics."

"It wasn't me"

"I know full well it was you. I'm sick of people coming along and throwing their bags of rubbish into our skips. What is it? A TV? A dog?"

"A dog?"

"Someone threw a dead dog into our skip once."

"No, it's a wok"

"A wok?"

"Yeah, like a Chinese frying pan"

"A wok, me bollix. What's in it?"

"A wok!"

He reaches into the skip and starts to pull the wok out by its oar length handle. I decide to run. Have any of you ever run when you've been hungover – no? – cos people don't generally do it, do they? I get to the top of the street. I'm fucked. My heart is beating like Bonzo on Moby Dick. Lungs exploding. I look back and I see that the builder has unwrapped the package and is looking bewildered. I get this weird sense of déjà vu. I have enough fuel in the tank to get me another street away.

I can now start my day in earnest. I begin by going to a few record shops (remember them?) and pick up a few CDs and magazines. And then a new mophead. I notice that it's 1300hrs. Time for a pint, I'm on my holidays, it's nearly birthday and I need a cure. Freds won't be open yet and I'm too mortified to even think of going back in there after my Chris Cornell tribute act from the night before. There's a pub two doors down from my flat. I get on well with the lads in there. I'll go in and have the craic.

As I get to the door, I notice that they have CCTV cameras pointed in both directions. Would it be cheeky to ask them for a look at the tape last night? I wonder. What if I'm starkers on the video? I'll have to kill myself... or at the very least, move. In I go.

James, the manager, is at the bar writing in his notebook. He has a huge grin on his face.

No. No. No.

"Pint?" he asks

"..... eh" I reply

"Pint of Guinness there for, Spiderman" he says to Brian behind the bar.

Spiderman? What the fuck is happening?

Brian arrives down with my pint.

"There you go, Spidey" he says.

Does Spiderman do something with his langer hanging out? Did I miss an issue? The Amazing Bare-Ass Spiderman.

"James..." I begin, "what's the craic with Spiderman?"

"You tell me" he says "You were the one going on about it last night when I was closing up"

"Was I in here last night?!"

"No, no. You arrived on the scene just as I was locking the door. You had a HUGE wok with you. You were singing Spiderman! Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can. And thumping the wok with your belt buckle."

As casually as I can I say;

"Ah, sure I'm some eejit. I'd love to see it on the oul CCTV."

"Are you sure about that?" he asks. "You were, eh... in some condition".

"Go on" I says. Trying not to faint.

Into the office we go. He puts on the tape and rewinds it. There I am, in black and white, belting away on my wok – fully clothed. A tsunami of relief washes over me.

"The state of me" says I

"It happens to everyone. It was your turn last night" says James who has now taken on a Dali Lama wisdom.

"I dunno where I got the wok from"

James rewinds the video and changes the camera. There's a shadowy figure taking a piss down his side lane. Slash complete, said shadowy figure stops at a pile of rubbish bags, dives in and emerges with a rather large Asian cooking tool.

"Our lane backs onto The Mayflower takeaway" says the Dali Lama.

After two pints I head home. I'm fucking shattered. I take my records and stuff out of the bag and go to put the mop head in the little cupboard under the sink in the en-suite toilet.

And there, perfectly folded with my sneakers resting atop them are my clothes from last night. 

FIN.

[Kurt Cocaine]

Phuck me sytheweighs 

[Emphyrio]

Fantastic haha

[Juggz]

Jaysus 

[Ollkiller]

Brilliant. Like a hammer throw in the Olympics 😂🤣😂

[Paul keohane]

Gas man!

[Snare]

Ah that was class. The owls killed me 🤣😂🤣

[astfgyl]

That was a decent read. The writing is to be commended

[Scáthach]

  Bladdered but still folded and put away your clothes. Very tidy 

[Carnage]

Epic adventure. Brilliant.

[Bigmac]

I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.

I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.

[Kurt Cocaine]

I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.

I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.

Ahem, care to share some of your tasty past inebriated histories with us Mac?

[StoutAndAle]

Cheers lads. Glad that my fuckwittery from 20 years ago has some sort of value.

The more observant among you will note that I said 4 parts and mentioned my birthday. I condensed it it to 3 because it was getting a bit long.

I'll throw up my 21st birthday horrorshow later.

Side note: I was thinking about this earlier. We are creating our own MCU - Monged Clown Universe - here. There will come a point when stories will cross-over  and the scuttered Avengers will assemble.

[Bigmac]

I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.

I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.

Ahem, care to share some of your tasty past inebriated histories with us Mac?

Ha ha I certainly have a plethora of ones I could tell, though my newfound sobriety sees little benefit in sharing what feels like a very different life. But I'll see, the notion might strike me one of these days.

[Ollkiller]

I've genuinely been waiting for the next parts of these stories since you began, absolutely top notch tales, written so well.

I'd honestly buy a book of these tales if you were ever to get them all down. I remember some absolute gems from other threads too.

Ahem, care to share some of your tasty past inebriated histories with us Mac?

Ha ha I certainly have a plethora of ones I could tell, though my newfound sobriety sees little benefit in sharing what feels like a very different life. But I'll see, the notion might strike me one of these days.

Sharing is caring. C'mon ta fuck. Out with them lad. Makes the lockdown that bit easier.