Drunk and disorderly

Saturday just gone there was a mini-party at one of S's friends house. Not a party really, just a few of us, and a lot of meze and raki. Early on, one of them asked me what I thought of the turkish, what my impressions so far was. I trotted out some cliched tripe about how everybody is different, about how you can't judge a nation by dint of the few people you've met, generalisations are unfair, yada yada blah blah bore.

After that we proceeded to down something like a bottle of raki each, chaos ensued, two days later I've just made it through the resultant mansized hangover - and I'm about ready to go back on that. Here then is what I think of the turkish: like the british they can go a bit bleeding bonkers upon drinking too much; unlike the british they don't seem to have developed coping mechanisms for the morning after.

You see, after a mostly pleasant time, the evening had veered off into drunken idiocy territory. Words were said, hissy fits were had(*), injuries of the beery nature were sustained, combatants were held apart and counselled to "Leave it Gary, it's not worf it!"(**).

(*) and for once it wasn't by me. Hurrah!

(**) this may not have been the exact wording used.

So when I woke up the next day, I was thinking to myself blimey, what a night - but to be honest was giggling somewhat. It was kinda funny, actually, the amateur dramatics included. But bloody hell, the others would Not Shut Up about it. Whose fault was it that the badness occurred, who started it, what could've happened, and so on and so forth until my head exploded.

I couldn't understand it - we were all ok, all alive and in one piece, a few bruises to remember the night by maybe but nothing to write home about. The worst thing I thought about the night was that someone lost their bag - but it turns out the next day that she had found it again. So, you know, jobs a good 'un.

But this attitude not shared by my friends, who were all varying degrees of distraught. The fighting had admittedly started over a particularly petty issue (although personally I suspect A Girl is actually behind it somewhere...), so I suppose a bit of "did it really kick off over that?!" chat is to be expected. But really I couldn't understand why they couldn't just chalk this one up to the party gods, and forget about it.

On reflection however I'm wondering (***) if this is just a British habit, and when you think about it, not a very nice one. That anything can happen when you're drinking and it doesn't matter, it's all explained away by saying 'we were drunk'. I don't know, what do you think this attitude is - useful pragmatism or unhealthy denial?

*** I'm writing like Sex and the City, aren't I? How vile, I do apologise.

Perhaps a teenagerhood spent chucking yourself and your friends down the stairs in sleeping bags and a motorcycle helmet isn't, as I've always thought, a natural and good piece of harmless fun, but a mark of dysfunction.

Nah, bollocks, that time *was* funny. But you take my point?

Anyway, whatever. This post is getting increasingly introspective and tedious, so I'll stop now, and show you a photo of the kebab I had to deal with the hangover instead. (Continuing my fine tradition of *literally* telling you what I had for tea last night.)