Misery and carnage. That has been my worldview in the weeks since the third annual St Albans (SACKS YO) flat crawl rolled through your local. Having been present during the prior two 'experiences', I was confidently convinced that I had the measure of the event, and began drinking... early. Far too early it seems. I guess when you're struggling to remember exactly what hour in the afternoon that you became drunk then you must be prepared for more than the usual nights antics. Alas, my preparation consisted solely of drinking and I clearly ignored all warning signs.
The night started in with afternoon drinking in my room, listening to a plethora of great music. I continued to drink into the night, counting the albums down, impatiently awaiting my flatmates to be ready. This didn't happen until after the first two flats had already felt the wrath of the illustrious St Albans crowd. Finally we set off in search of partying, drunken swagger and all.
We managed to make it to the Log Cabin, officially the third stop, and the festivitalies commenced. Once again for me, this meant more drunk, this time with an agreeable crowd in tow. The next few flats passed in a drunken blur of shouting, chain smoking and nonsensical conversations.
By the time the flat crawl made it to our Cranford fortress, I was well gone. Moving from gin, beer, vodka and back to gin had taken its toll. I know our flat hosted food and drink but I didn't notice any of that. The last stop of the flat crawl was the Cranford Castle, and this is where my night took an abrupt end too. Feeling dizzy I quietly moved to the back of the garden to clear my head... which ended in a cycle of passing out and vomiting. This continued for quite some time until people managed to get me inside and onto a bed (thanks John), with a bucket at my disposal.
I awoke suddenly at 4am, and spent the next 5mins vomiting heartily into the strategically placed bucket. After vomiting, I staggered down Cranford St and back to my flat. I had a hugely restless sleep and woke up to more vomit, which became a common theme for my Sunday. The whole day I had intense pains in my stomach and kept vomiting. That night I went to the after hours surgery and had to get an injection to stop the vomiting. I spent the next three days unable to move or eat, with intense pains in my stomach. I moved back to my parents house for the week so they could look after me. The pain got so bad that I had to take sleeping pills. I can't even describe how shit those few days were. Basically, I got alcohol poisoning and had developed gastritis due to the vomiting. My internal organs were bruised and swollen, hence the intense pain in my stomach. The pain and lack of eating lasted until Thursday, in which I finally began to feel better. I returned to my flat on Saturday, a whole week since the trouble began. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but its safe to say that I'm going to lay off the drinking for a while. Because fuck going through that again.
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