I used to be a party starter, as R put it once I was the kind of person who could start a party in Antarctica, just needed some vodka and a couple of cans of RedBull. And the boy was my partner in crime, the ultimate wingman. We used to be good, roll into Clancy’s, pour ourselves some 75’s and head out on the hunt, him with his killer smile, me with my humour. A plethora of girls passed before us, most of them I can’t remember, just nicknames like Dead Fish, White Top, etc (well actually I can only remember one, N, who’s actually a good mate now despite her irrational want for me to walk on the beach after I’ve consumed 10 pounds of seafood and two bottles of wine…yeah, never gonna happen!).  Even when not on the hunt, we still enjoyed ourselves, a bottle of Blavod and we were on the tables at Glo, rocking until the early hours of the morning. We didn’t leave anybody behind either, K, Chinky Pinky, the Akkis all enjoyed themselves, Evil started smoking again, Bounty used to have to find himself a new job every time we came down and rebuild his reputation every time we left. But from the beach , to the Blue, to Glo, Holiday Inn and the early morning drives on Galle Road it was a blast…

But somewhere along the line we lost it, going out became more escapism than enjoyment. Pouring a drink is more pressing the button of self destruction, not that either of us are alcoholics since we don’t drink alone or all the time. But for me personally partying is not about having fun anymore, it’s about forgetting what sucks in life for a brief moment. Case in point, my penultimate night at home, my issues were 20% girl, 60% illness in the family and the rest the prospect of leaving what makes me, me behind on a 10,000 mile trip in couple of days. It was supposed to be quiet drinks at Buba, mostly because I was trying to sort the girl out, but that didn’t happen. 

So I pressed the self-destruct button, a couple of quick texts to Akki to find out how Hikka was and to do some discreet convincing calls to P and Bounty. I tried to get Evil involved but apparently he was too busy entertaining his harem. One hour, some insane driving, a fruitless search for an open hotel for P to pee in (apparently because he can’t leak on the road) and Poot’s rather endearing incredulity about the fact that we were actually going to Hikka and we were walking into Mambo’s.

Money handed to P 

Get me a vodka red bull

Gulp, gulp 

Another please?

Machang chill 

Don’t worry dude, it’s under control

What followed was pure escapism, I forgot the girl, the family, dealing with issues from 10,000 miles away and impending exile. All I was aware of was the alcohol sparkling in my bloodstream, Akki grinning away, Loo pulling on my hair, kupadi grin at a hot girl in a red top, gal look back, Indian girl in a skirt, Maldivian girl drunk off her head, etc.

Three hours or so of vodka, white rum and Old Reserve straight from the bottle and I ended up on the roof of P’s car being handfed onion rotti by Akki, almost killing Poot over a chocolate rotti, getting stuck in the window of the car trying to crawl in and then passing out on the way back on S’s shoulder. 

It was a night that will probably go down in the annals of the crew as being one that was completely off the hook, but to me there will always be something wrong about that night. I fuelled the fire and was as Bounty put it when I asked him whether the night was entertaining, I was the ‘entertainment.’ But it wasn’t about fun for me, it was about self-destructing, escaping. Even now when I laugh about what I got up to that night, my laugh echoes hollow.

I have to stop pressing that button and learn to deal, somehow. The first step I took in Sri Lanka last year, for better or worse. This year I deleted all the girls I don’t want to know anything about, remember who they, don’t give a shit about from my phonebook (I didn’t really delete the girl’s number because I doubt that chapter is closed, well I don’t want to close it just yet I guess).

It’s time to get real I guess.