Drunk (and also Not Drunk)

Listen kids, alcohol abuse is not big and not clever.

The night before last was a drinkers wet-dream. It started mid-morning on East 6th Street in Austin, Texas, and finished about 1am the next day.

In a nutshell, I found myself in a bar called ‘Bikinis’ (where the all-female mid-20s staff wear… well, I’m sure you can work it out).

Lunch at Bikinis on E6th Street

 

While I was sitting at the bar teasing the barmaid, I met a really cool guy from Nashville.

 

Fred.

 

And I had a few beers there.

 

 

 

Then I went somewhere else and had a couple there.

Then I went to the Austin Conference Centre to recharge my batteries (literally) and bumped in to a Spanish band.

They took me captive and forced me to drink a range of increasingly aggressive beers for about six hours.

Luisa, about to take control of me

 

 

Then one of the band, Luisa, felt I needed a bodyguard (as they had just released me from captivity).

 

And then it all got very hazy.

 

There was a lot more drinking.

 

 

And there were many, many bands seen.

Fortunately I have totally illegible notes to describe who I saw/heard and what I thought. Can’t think why my notes are illegible.

But that’s OK, I have a fallback, obv.

I woke up yesterday morning, after far too few hours sleep, with a mouth that resembled the floor in a Texan farmers bull-pen.

I also found myself looking at a small, tasteful tattoo of a blue butterfly.

Anyway.

Last night was a different kettle of fish.

I had a brilliant Mexican meal on E6th Street.

I interviewed a band promoter from Arizona.

I saw five bands.

I had two diet cokes.

And one beer.

And my notes are totes legible.

There is a moral to this tale somewhere.

I think it is: ‘Don’t drink and write notes’.

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