Me, Kimb and the ladies, in times less dry…

You know, a funny thing happened to me, on the way here today…. I was just strollin along, just mindid my own affairs, when a dying beggar vomited at me. Twas a rancid, frothy broth, that had more than a little blood in it, however the main body was a light shade of green. Just missed me feet. Nice way, to start the day. And what did MW, the backpacking bastion of compassion do? Same as every other backpacker of course; I just kept on walkin. I actually had to give the whole incident some fairly undivided attention, before it even got to me. I cruised past him, an hour or so later; he gave me an odd, sanguine look, as if to apologize for barking at me earlier on. Strange. Naturally, by then I'd forgotten about it, what with all the scammers prowling the streets of Bombay, your memory for such incidents, is mercifully short. Besides, I had other things, on my mind.
Other things, to worry about.

You see, Kimb, flies in tonight, from Philadelphia. Do you all remember Kimb. She's the beautiful American girl, I was fortuitous enough to meet, in Bangkok, after missing my flight to Calcutta. We spent a fairly sordid thirty six hours, together. Extremely sordid, would actually, be more the case. Yes, they were crazy times, in a crazy place.

I must have been pretty impressive, She s flying out from the US of A to travel with me, up until New Years.
And, while I'm most chuffed by this, and am also, dead keen to see her, there is something, I'm quite worried about.

India, is not the easiest place, to get a drink. And, to do so, usually entails drinking in some squalid dungeon, with no lights, and bars, on the windows. The sort of place that makes you feel uncomfortable, and guilty, just for having a thirst. Even the barmen, look upon you with undisguised scorn, as he serves you beer, beer with ludicrous names, like; Godfather, Canon, Skullkrusher, Super Strength Beer, King Hit, Super Turbo…..
And to drink in these dens, is not an experience you'd consider "social" when you enter such an abode alone. No, its like being in a dimly lit rats nest, where every one is drinking poison…
Jesus, I could go on.

Alternately, you can buy take always, and slink back to your room, feeling like a villain. Then, surreptitiously, swig away, with every mouthful, compounding your feelings of isolation and guilt.

So, no, India, is not much of a locale, for a drinker. Which, with a few exceptions, has been fine.
Up until now.

It's the whole sex thing. I mean, even by my staid accounts, in Bangkok, with Kimb, I , was fucking sensational. The master. All my moves, went like clockwork, and even the crazy shit I pulled off later on in the picture, was fluid, in its delivery. I could do no wrong.
Day, and night, total coital wizardry. I think I even, went down on her. God forbid.
There will no more of that filth going on, I can assure you.

So, I feel Kimb, may be heading over, for more, of the good stuff. Which is fine. Its just great.

Truly.

Its just that, I'll be trying to recreate past glories, you know, sober.
The thought, terrifies me. Jesus, in Bangkok, I was full of Sang Thip Whisky for two weeks. I mean its all I lived on, apart from Chang beer and club sandwiches. And that stuff is so full of amphetamines, it could kickstart a corpse. It effectively turns any turns any horizontal hack, into a contender.
Jesus, what to do? And it s not as if I don t have fair reason for fretting. The last two weeks I spent, with Jennsy Accademsy, in India, didn't involve drinking. And, didn't it show. Nepal, was one long piss up, and, as a result, I was proficient, and occasionally vaguely inspiring between the sheets.
But upon arrival, in India, things started, to go wrong. At first, things seemed OK. Yes, certainly a tad briefer, to be sure, but, OK, none the less. But then, my nerves, started to fray. And, performance degenerated accordingly.

My last performance, in Delhi, was disgraceful. Pivots were awkward and rusty, transitions summarily fumbled and botched. And, the final result???
What result…

Jennsy was kind and understanding, but by the same token, I reckon she was also pretty glad to see the back of me. Head home to London, and hook into a couple of pill poppin blokes, and get a bit of the good stuff.

But where does that leave me? I've given it a bit of thought, and can now see, for all the economies one can achieve, by having a girlfriend to travel with, they are largely negated, due to ones beverage account. Which is fine for girls. The less they drink, the more runs, they put on the board. I however, am proving, to be pretty much useless, without a beer or six, under my belt.

And looking back, over my checkered past, I can see a familiar pattern, emerging. And a grim one at that. Without drugs, and alcohol, I can not be my best. Oh occasionally I'll show a flash of form. but, as a rule of thumb, I'm lackluster.

And, Kimb flies in tonight.

Jesus…

I'm shitting myself.

If anyone can see their way clear to get a pallet or two of VB, to Bombay in the next few hours I'll be forever in their debt.

I'll be waiting at the docks.

Mw.