There's many a person who's been pissed off without a doubt. There's many a man I guess, who has, at some time while half awake and after a bit too much beer, pissed in an inappropriate place. It is an unfortunate juxtaposition of this kind of situation that led to my having the less than edifying experience of being pissed on.
When I worked in Bristol in the early 1990s - a period which seems like yesterday to me, but which is now over twenty years ago, I lived in a bed-sit in Cotham. It was a very nice "gaff" - the house was owned by a gay couple who lived upstairs, and on the same floor as me lived a very pretty and sociable young woman and a gay bloke, so the place was interesting and eventful.
Anyway, on this particular night I was off to see The Walter Trout Band somewhere in Bristol, and this other bloke from work had expressed a desire to go, and I said I would let him sleep on my floor. Eventually a third chap decided he'd come along too, but he'd go home on the train as he lived locally, let's call him Declan MacSweeney, just to protect the innocent. He wasn't innocent, so that was his name..
The evening went along pretty well. It was a stand-up gig, and the audience was the kind of audience who need treating with respect, but Declan got more and more pissed, downing lager like there was no tomorrow, and escaping getting thumped by the skin of his teeth on several occasions. Eventually we got out and Declan revealed that he had missed his train home, so I agreed to let him sleep on my floor too.
When we got back to my room it was clear that Declan was still absorbing the alcohol from his last drinks, and was getting more and more pissed. When we put the light out he was in that rolling about and moaning state of complete drunkeness. The other chap and I kept telling him to shut up, and in the end and only when I threatened to chuck him out, did he finally go to sleep.
Next thing I knew, but actually it must have been an hour or so later, I woke up to find a muttering figure looming over my bed, and before I've even got my bearings he's pissing on my feet. I shouted at him of course, and he managed to stop, at which point I dragged him off to the lavatory down the corridor. It says something about my good nature that I let him back in the room at all. It also suggests that I had drunk my share that instead of ripping all the bedding off my bed, I just got back in and pulled my feet up out of the damp patch. In retrospect this seems pretty disgusting, but at the time I was a bit bemused I guess. Next day I bundled all my duvet and other damp bits and pieces in a bin bag and gave it to Declan to take home to his wife to wash and dry.
At work the following day Declan, who was anyway one of those rather cadaverous fellows, sat at his desk moaning slightly and looking like a ghost.
A few weeks later Declan was sent to Frankfurt to sort out some software, and as luck would have it the whole thing went belly up and I was the only person who could fix it, so I flew out to rescue him. We never mentioned the pissing incident again, which I suppose was an omission on my part since I should really have made him sweat as I dragged him out of the mire. Really though Declan was a good bloke, and a lot of fun, so if I had to be pissed on by someon
When I worked in Bristol in the early 1990s - a period which seems like yesterday to me, but which is now over twenty years ago, I lived in a bed-sit in Cotham. It was a very nice "gaff" - the house was owned by a gay couple who lived upstairs, and on the same floor as me lived a very pretty and sociable young woman and a gay bloke, so the place was interesting and eventful.
Anyway, on this particular night I was off to see The Walter Trout Band somewhere in Bristol, and this other bloke from work had expressed a desire to go, and I said I would let him sleep on my floor. Eventually a third chap decided he'd come along too, but he'd go home on the train as he lived locally, let's call him Declan MacSweeney, just to protect the innocent. He wasn't innocent, so that was his name..
The evening went along pretty well. It was a stand-up gig, and the audience was the kind of audience who need treating with respect, but Declan got more and more pissed, downing lager like there was no tomorrow, and escaping getting thumped by the skin of his teeth on several occasions. Eventually we got out and Declan revealed that he had missed his train home, so I agreed to let him sleep on my floor too.
When we got back to my room it was clear that Declan was still absorbing the alcohol from his last drinks, and was getting more and more pissed. When we put the light out he was in that rolling about and moaning state of complete drunkeness. The other chap and I kept telling him to shut up, and in the end and only when I threatened to chuck him out, did he finally go to sleep.
Next thing I knew, but actually it must have been an hour or so later, I woke up to find a muttering figure looming over my bed, and before I've even got my bearings he's pissing on my feet. I shouted at him of course, and he managed to stop, at which point I dragged him off to the lavatory down the corridor. It says something about my good nature that I let him back in the room at all. It also suggests that I had drunk my share that instead of ripping all the bedding off my bed, I just got back in and pulled my feet up out of the damp patch. In retrospect this seems pretty disgusting, but at the time I was a bit bemused I guess. Next day I bundled all my duvet and other damp bits and pieces in a bin bag and gave it to Declan to take home to his wife to wash and dry.
At work the following day Declan, who was anyway one of those rather cadaverous fellows, sat at his desk moaning slightly and looking like a ghost.
A few weeks later Declan was sent to Frankfurt to sort out some software, and as luck would have it the whole thing went belly up and I was the only person who could fix it, so I flew out to rescue him. We never mentioned the pissing incident again, which I suppose was an omission on my part since I should really have made him sweat as I dragged him out of the mire. Really though Declan was a good bloke, and a lot of fun, so if I had to be pissed on by someon
