The Promise

Tonight I am going out on the ran-dan, as they say in Scotland which in essence means going out for drinks with friends. I am rather looking forward to it.

Of course, when I say that the ran-dan means going out for drinks with friends I am not being entirely honest. It actually means going out to get rip-roaringly drunk.

We have many ways of describing the delicious art of getting drunk here in Scotland. I think because it is such a common occurrence that we have to have lots of ways of referring to it. You know, like the Eskimos with all their words for snow.

So if you see an unfamiliar word in the post just assume it means very drunk.

In preparation for the mammoth drinking session ahead, I met my mate Webby for lunch to discuss what the general plans were.

I can't wait to get mawkit.

He said, over a coffee.

Me neither dude. It's been a fair old while since I was out in the wild.

Aye well, tonight is the night mate. We are gonna get blootered!

Yay!

Said I, in a slightly small voice. A part of me already dreading the inevitable early rise with the little boom.

Once again I had to face the question.

Am I getting too old for this shit?

I mean. I haven't even started and already I am dreading the next day. In the past I used to scoff at hangovers and ridicule those who feared them.

Whilst I was pondering the hangover and tribulations to be faced the next day, I noticed Webby had become a little pensive.

You alright dude?

I enquired?

Aye, aye. Well, sort of, you know.

He paused and then took a breath.

Do me a favour though mate eh? Make sure I don't get a kebab tonight.

But you love a kebab? Especially when you are drunk.

He paused again. Then seemed to make up his mind.

You ever had to stick a finger up your arse?

I made a this ice cream tastes like jizzum kind of face.

Ermm, what? A finger up my chuff? Eh, of course not. Well, maybe. Once, sort of. Why?

The piles man, my arse is pure broke. Bleeds like a bastard after a kebab.

Oh, right. That's nice.

He looked at me like a man reliving the horrors of the war.

Aye, I have to stick this pile cream stuff up it. Especially after a kebab. Kebabs are bad, man.

I winced in sympathy, then brightened.

I might get one. My arse is alright.

He looked at me darkly, then spoke with a touch of jealousy in his tone.

Aye well, lucky for some. Just promise me, alright?

Alright mate, I promise to stop you getting a kebab so you won't have to stand in a sea of blood fingering yourself in the morning.

He nodded.

Cheers mate. I owe you.

I nodded and smiled.

Maybe I am not the one that should be worried that I am too old for this shit.