Lisboa.
Shots were down on the table, a cheap house liquor called an erasamus, dropped in each, with the final touch a choclate peanut. The peanut was nice, but the blue straight tasted like lpg and I'm not talking premium octance. The third night in a row we had done this. Would we ever learn. Finch and I had been going out everynight on the Lisbon pub crawl, with all the new faces we had met at the hostel we now called friends. Callum, Lauren, Nicky, Hayley, Danny, Big Bobby Bredan, Nick, 2nd Nick, Matt, Shannon, Blacky, Sauce, steve, prue and many others I have forgotten due to the drunken amnesia that clouds over my memory stores when I punch Lisbon into it. The scene for the following picture involves a shot called a '666' or hospital shot. only the 6 absinthes finished of with a dollop of tabasco sauce in this one. The brew sits on the table bubbling like the fires of mordor as you register what you have just purchased as you hand the keep the 2 euro charge. You look your drunken comrades in the eyes, take in the cool interior of the cool greens and blues of the bar before you tip the glass. wait for the kick. By kick i mean a fucking kick in the throat. The power of the 6 absinthes of all different colours, with the sinus blowing sting of the tabasco to finish. I had done this 2 nights in a row, but come the third I had, over did the pre game, had no chaser and was soon running for the nearest exit. I was jumping around trying to hold it in and when blacky told me to let the little european coupe have it I took aim. The hood of the opel messed with my brand of ingests. We had looked at this white opel every night, wondering why it was so dirty and parked in such an odd spot. parking your car outside of a shooters bar is like parking behind the goals (once saw a mt eve local park his glass truck, with a full load of panes behind the goals at their home ground) It's risky. Blackys mate, washed it off with a water bottle. My mouth was on fire, tasted like an old jock strap and I was suddenly in all sorts. Finch was lost. I didn't care. The good samaritan with the water bottle had left, round 2 was coming. Blacky directed me to the car. bam. another load of salsa looking hot spew for the opel. The duco may or may not have been slightly burnt from the heat, but this is unconfirmed.
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| Lauren and I next to the spew 1 week on. |
Finch and i headed to Porto to recover from Lisbons liver annihilating regime of nightly beer pong tournaments and shooters bars. There we took it easy. seeing the sights, playing checkers, watching some movies. Caught up with Callum, which was a nice little outing to a bar, but was a quite leg of our trip. We returned to Lisbon to fly out, giving ourselves a couple of days to catch up with all our new mates. We were told on arrival that the spew lived on and that the car was yet to move. I was elated. Possibly the best spew of all time. Big call, but valid. a week in the elements and still showing the remnants of last mondays lunch and pasta dinner.
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| 3 weeks on. |
3 weeks on and I was sent a photo by spew enthusiast Juliet, who had just began working at the G-spot hostel when I left. We got along well and she instantly was impressed at my abilty to produce long-lasting, weather resistant projectiles. She sent me this photo via facebook 2 weeks after the first update. I was ecstatic once again to be making the local papers and on-going media interests of Lisbon for my sick. I haven't had an update on the state of the white opels hood since then, but I really hope that it is still caked loud and proud. Thanks for reading.
I realise my last 2 blog entrys have been polar opposites in feel. At least this keeps it interesting I reckon. Stay tuned for my oktoberfest entry. I hope you'll enjoy it. I enjoyed writing it.