So... right. Saturday was my birthday (thankyou to everyone who wished me a happy day and came to my party by the way, it was lovely of you!). A blog will probably follow in dedication, as soon as James sorts his life out and uploads the photos (HINT). Anyway...
So its your 19th birthday, your pretty drunk, everyones having a good time. By eleven, you've smashed full bottles of beer, you've vomcanoed (note to self, dont drink merlot at parties), you've even attempted to smoke a cigarette the wrong way round - asin, lit end to the mouth - and given yourself very unsexy blister, because in your drunken stupour, your thirteen again, and you kinda do believe that smoking will make you look cool. It doesn't by the way kids. Speshly not when you do it wrong...
At this stage, everyone is being dead nice to you cos its your birthday and not minding that your a bit of a mess. Special mention goes to Pru for insisting on holding my hair back during the chunder, thats true friendship. Then, without warning, the next door neightbours turn up. Or perhaps, one of your drunken Irish friends invited them from over the wall...
No-one minds, and they seem pretty nice. Now... you must remember that everything at this point is rather blurry for me. All I remember is being outside, and over hearing someone say the girl was a crack addict. And, because I was somewhat inebriated, instead of just thinking "Oh no!" as I normally would, I thought "Oh no! Poor girl, I should HELP HER!"
Rule one guys. Dont ever offer addiction help to someone until you're sure they have an addiction.
So into the kitchen I went, feeling Mother Teresa incarnate, and interupted the lovely conversation that was taking place.
"Right, dont take this in the wrong way," (SEE?? polite, friendly...) "But are you a crack addict?"
Safe to say they left son after, and we are not friends with our neighbours anymore...
This is the only photo I have so far. It is indicative of state.
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