(A true story of alcohol)
‘Look! I see Santa!’
‘Look, the man with the beard!’
‘I think he’s just homeless?’
‘Hey, man. Are you homeless?’
‘See, he’s Santa. I won’t sit on your knee. You obviously just want a quiet drink.’
Holy Jesus! Give me a beer! Where’s the pub, the angel atop the hill? Santa! Give me a lift on your sleigh?
We need cigarettes. Marlboro. Obviously.
‘Twenty Marlboro please?’
‘You don’t look old enough.’
‘But I’m 26!’
‘I believe you but I still can’t serve you.’
Within fifteen minutes I had smoke puffing from my lips. Voices screaming ‘WHAT WHAT WHAT’ The whole place full of screams and lightheaded roars. It was only 7:30. I was asking people if they’ve seen Santa? Everyone said no. I’ve seen him I told everyone. No one believed me of course.
Except one friend who plays guitar. Cool looking and wears a hat and talks with a gravel.
‘I’ve met Santa’ I tell him
‘I’ve seen him too!’
‘Yeah. He gave me the mushrooms I took an hour ago’
‘What! Santa deals drugs!’
‘Only to close friends. He’s nice like that’
The next order of business was the trek up the hill to the wings and light of angels where the beer flowed like wine and the wine flowed like..well, wine and I stumbled and fell upwards and witnessed the sign ANGEL above the door and floated through in a ghostly manner as I always do..Stood naked (Metaphorically) and went to the bar and said to the barmaid who wore her hair blue and her eyes green ‘Has Santa been in?’
‘Are you high?’
‘Well, I’m high enough for you to see my head above the bar.’
‘What do you want to drink?’
‘Jack and coke’
I went out back and smoked and stroked a cat. Talked to some girls and walked out with the angels wings singing their praises and them singing mine. Three girls walk past and said ‘Hey’ and invite me to a poetry reading. Which are always long and twisted and over the top with terrible acting and I sit there and clap and smile. I enjoy them because I like to talk to poets and artists and talk books and I get talking to an old man with a long white beard suspiciously a lot like Santa’s who was also a poet and told me he was friends with Kerouac and we both detested Wordsworth. Turdsworth as Byron called him.
‘You should take my number?’ I said
He made his excuses. I thought the bloody cheek! He rejected me! I was stunned. I laughed! Hahahahaha
He got up and read and I hated his poems.
The next thing I know I’m in some toilet being offered coke off some MADMAN!
‘You want some coke?’
Heaven above! He’s hitting the condom machine..’What you doing that for?’ A wise move. Don’t make friends with him! Oh dear.
He’s wants to shake my hand..I’m confused. He’s trying to plant drugs on me! Oh shit!
‘My wife just left me’ he says..
‘She’s pregnant by another man..’
‘Two years it’s been going on..’
O Christ I thought should I yell for help? His eyes bulging and grim and in no fit state to be staring at me!
I made my excuses and fled in a desperate flee.
‘I’m tripping balls’ he says
He wails around in the desert or so I think with the sunrise ready and waiting and he goes and sits in a corner and curls up in a ball telling me ‘ O lord O lord touch me touch me touch me..’ and stares up at the night sky howling smoking a joint and the green mist surrounded us and I breath it into my lungs like lightening bolting the cool bright air.
He sicks everything up and falls asleep and I slap him in the face and bring him back to life. Startled and high..
‘What the hell! What the hell!’
Three Scottish men walk down drunk and unkind wailing like baboons.
‘What the hell! It’s the three wise men!’
I went sailing off on the treasured sea and end up with two Americans waiting for the same thing..
‘You waiting for a taxi?’
‘There seems to be none round here’
‘Yeah, we’ve been waiting for an hour.’
I thought fuck this. I wondered off with my thumb in the cold wind and came across a man asleep with a bottle in his hand..
‘Hey, wake up!’
He grunts and sighs and it’s Santa wasted.
‘Hey, I need a lift home. I’ll give you £30 for a ride in your sleigh?’
‘I don’t drink and drive’.