If you were there, beware

Being alone in England is fun, but having uncles there is more fun. Case in point: my last day in England.

It started pretty normal for me, waking up at half past twelve with an awful hangover (I'd been drinking for two weeks straight) and no motivation. I knew I'd be going to a 'barbie' with one of my uncles, so I had a quick breakfast and my uncle picked me up and we were off.

I had met the guy who owned the place the night earlier. He can put a pint back like nothing, but I'm in my prime. He looks like your average Englishman: glasses, stout, mid-30s, but a cool guy nonetheless. He had a bar in his garage, a nice one at that.

Well, my uncle, this fella and a few other guys were drinking by 1:30 and the food was ready by 3, so it was your average barbecue. But this went on well into the night. We drank until at least midnight, and when it goes on that long, you're just going to want more.

The time to leave came, and I was begging my uncle to go to another pub or a club, anywhere that I could grab another pint. He was dressed in his finest swim trunks and flip-flops, so he had to decline. He did tell me he'd drop me off at the Irish Club near where I was staying, though.
So the taxi dropped me off, his parting words,"Promise me you'll go home after this, and no where else." I agreed. My other uncle's place, where I was staying, was about one minute up the road, so I figured that's what I'd do.

I step inside the club, see some familiar faces, say hello, then make it to the bar. I got a cold pint of Carling and took a seat. I gulped it down, and figured I'd leave.

I begin my trek back. Walking home inebriated is my forte. I started college the year before, so I had a year's training and was a veteran. Piece of cake.

Just your typical Saturday night, see a few drunkards, some girls all dolled up for the evening. The house was around the bend and then it hit me. My ear drums rang with that oh-so-soothing sound of the Arctic Monkeys. I looked for the source of it and noticed that it emanated from a house party nearby.

The Arctic Monkeys have been my favorite band since their first album came out. I figured my cousins who live in England would be fans, but they weren't. I'd heard "I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor" in a bar once since I was there. I was underwhelmed.

But this. Finally someone who shared my taste. I need to go there! I debated whether or not to go to the party, which was sitting there, blasting the Monkeys like a Siren singing to me. After a drunken argument with myself, the music pulled me in.

I get to the door, which is surrounded by people enjoying a smoke after a beer. I muster all of my drunken courage, "I'm Thomas, I'm an American, and I love the Arctic Monkeys."
"Spot on, mate. I've never met an American before."

We were drunk. Obviously. I silently agreed to a line of questioning about America in exchange for all the booze I could drink.

It was a good time, finally hanging out with kids my age. We were there until about 4 am until the party died down. Then I finally made it home.

And let me tell you, 14 hours of drinking does not do a body good.