- Rule No. 1 :What happens on your best friend's Christmas work night out stays on the night out.
- Rule No. 2:If behaviour on said night is so bad it forces others to use you as a human shield it shall leave Rule No.1 null and void.
- Rule No. 3 If using a pole/wall/person to lean on for support to try and dance others will think you are something you are not. Particularly when combined with bendy joints. Probably a pole dancer. Yes, even after multiple falls, dislocations and the odd breathing problem.
- Rule No. 4. Do not, under any circumstances experience any condition that may require you to attend a hospital in the days subsequent to said nights out.
It started quite calmly, as these things do. Bad location, worse music. Not even the kind of cheesy pop that gets everyone up and dancing, the kind that somehow manages to clear the dancefloor. Still, the DJ was a nice guy. Married to one of Toes colleagues. It didn't take Toes long to try and 'help', but it was past that really. Still, after an hour or so and enough booze it didn't seem to matter too much. For some at least.
The true horror of the sight of an insane, drunken, late middle aged, overweight woman, lacking most of her teeth attaching herself with a vice like grip to the cock of whichever poor man had failed to hide in time and attempting to drag him on to the dance floor will forever remain burnt into my brain. Unfortunately. Worse still that seemed to set off some of the other women into a penis grabbing frenzy, hyped up probably by the smell of fear or perhaps by the panic in the men's eyes, and if unable to reach said appendages they responded by drunkenly waving around their little fingers...y'know, as if the men were the ones somehow failing to make the grade. Which, unsurprisingly is how I ended up a human shield. Toes and his mates very quickly figured out if they jammed as many of themselves into a tiny love seat as possible and draped me across themselves the women wouldn't be able to reach any part of them, and I will be forever grateful they had no interest in me. The women that is. The men were a different story.
If at all possible, can I recommend not dislocating anything at a party full of drunk medical staff. Oh, and definitely don't dislocate anything in your throat that might cause breathing problems. The drunken gleam in the eye of male nurses as they get excited and think they might get to do all manner of disturbing things to you is more frightening than scary middle aged cock grabbers. Particularly when mention of medical kits is made. Although I suppose that could well depend on your perspective. Not being either scary, late middle aged and lacking of teeth or possessed of a cock. Though the later might be interesting, unlike this blog. Anymore. If ever.
Back on subject. As I say, do try to avoid dislocations around drunk people who happen to be medical staff in their other lives. Whilst being a human shield Toes reached across me and his arm rested across my neck. Of course I dislocated. Something. Thyroid maybe. Possibly larynx again. Toes didn't think so, he said last time he could see how far it came out the side of my neck before it went back in. I think it probably was, just not with the same force, so not the same level of muscle spasm in response. Toes' reaction was immediate though. He must've felt it go. I wasn't too bothered. Could breathe but not speak immediately. Just couldn't make any sound for a moment or two. I could feel some spasming which was stopping me breathing but it wasn't lasting more than 20 seconds or so. Nothing to worry about. We went to get some fresh air, and I realised that I was generally having one of my spaz attacks by this point. Legs going like Bambi on acid as my hips flicked in and out and knees joining in the fun. Although I'd only danced to the odd track earlier and I had either leant up against a pole (literally) or been holding on to someone I knew at the time I was taking the piss out of myself and this was the response. My body had just had enough and didn't want to work anymore.
Fortunately Toes and his friends were looking for any excuse to get out of there so we sat in on a sofa by an open door where all the smokers were hanging out so I could let my breathing settle and Toes and his mates could make disturbing comments about medical equipment and cars. Fortunately I was the only one driving. 10 minutes and glass of water later all was fine but it was pretty obvious I wasn't going to be doing much supporting myself, my hips were a mess. Toes, having made sure I was ok went off to invite people back to his place, and after falling over as I tried to get up, one of his friends Tall Tim carried me outside and lay me down on a picnic bench where he gave me a hand put my hips back in, which whilst sounding potentially kinky, wasn't.
We left about half an hour later, my legs still doing the Bambi trick, but life is unsurprisingly much easier when you have 5 men with you all happy to carry you around. If only.....but no, neither the DWP or the 5 men would go for that one. More's the pity.
The 'after party' turned out to be the 5 men and me. You'll be pleased to hear I managed to cope with such an arduous task though. I fell over multiple times until I gave up on the idea of walking all together, lay on the lounge floor and wrapped my legs behind my head in an attempt to get my hips into their sockets. The men, in time honoured fashion, drank, indulged (not in me you filthy minded lot!) and carried on playing the far more interesting Nintendo wii all night until the first of them had to leave to start a shift the next morning.