That was the last thing I remember drinking; champagne. After the Vodka, the Tequilla, the Rum. Champagne was the last one I remember. Could have been more, I’ll have to check my card history. Not sure why I chose it. Bit of class? Would have taken a lot of that to get me feeling decent. I’m not a slob in the least. I work, pay my taxes, play the society game. I won’t go on and on about alcohol, because it’s all the same tunes. Escaping yourself, letting your hair down, having a good time. It’s just a mystery; champagne. Why? Maybe I felt high and mighty. Maybe I thought my bank balance was bigger than it actually is. Maybe so I could add it to the list, so I could reel off the different types of booze that had collectively given someone permission to host a rave in my skull.
Perhaps it was the girl. She might have asked for it. I might have asked her. Just another mystery; I might remember later. I didn’t puke; no way in hell. Not after champagne. That was some fortuitous willpower; holding my stomach against the sway of the taxi, feeling it rise up, but not giving in. I always think of a brass band playing to take my mind off it.
Then I think of the coots that drink it all the time. It’s a leisurely thing, but so is chinning four shots of Tequilla in a row, no lime. I guess I’ll never really understand.
Showing posts with label Champagne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Champagne. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 May 2012
Champagne by Lesley Whyte
The poolside is carnage. The aftermath of the party - French-cut knickers dangling from empty
champagne bottles, diamond earrings in puddles of spilt wine and vodka. Cellphones with half a dozen missed calls. Driver's licenses, another half dozen of those. He has to check ages now. The last lawsuit hit him hard.
But there's nobody floating face-down in the pool this morning. All the pretty young groupies are safely ensconced in the master suite.
Sometimes you have to celebrate the little victories.
champagne bottles, diamond earrings in puddles of spilt wine and vodka. Cellphones with half a dozen missed calls. Driver's licenses, another half dozen of those. He has to check ages now. The last lawsuit hit him hard.
But there's nobody floating face-down in the pool this morning. All the pretty young groupies are safely ensconced in the master suite.
Sometimes you have to celebrate the little victories.
Champagne by Kim Warren
“This is your doing!!!” Ellen screamed at Lila, as she walked through the shop door. Lila couldn’t help but laugh at the state of her friend. She was pale and had her left hand pressed against her aching head, her shirt was inside out and her hair was lying limp and lifeless against her cheeks.
“I didn’t force it down your neck babe,” Lila said in her defence, “you were the one asking for more.”
“Errrrr,” Ellen moaned sinking down so her entire top half was lying on the counter. “They should not give a drunk person that much alcohol.”
“Erm yeah,” Lila said nervously “Have you seen Max today?”
“No why?” Ellen moaned into the counter.
“Well,” Lila shuffled across the shop and leant on the counter in front of her friend. “You may have confessed undying love for him last night and told him his girlfriend had fat thighs.”
Ellen’s body tensed as this information sunk in.
“Oh god no.”
“Buuuuut,” Lila said smiling from ear to ear, “last week he found out his girlfriend had been cheating on him so they’ve split up.”
Ellen’s head shot up and her vision went all blurry.
“He loved your thighs comment, you spent all night chatting and he wrote his number on your hand, see...” She pointed at Ellen’s fingers and she noticed she did indeed have a number on her hand.
“Now, you wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing what you did last night if you were sober would you?” Lila said giggling.
Ellen suddenly leant down and grabbed her water bottle from under the counter and held it above her head.
“To Champagn!!” She cried.
“Hell yeah!” Ellen replied and they knocked their water bottles together.
“I didn’t force it down your neck babe,” Lila said in her defence, “you were the one asking for more.”
“Errrrr,” Ellen moaned sinking down so her entire top half was lying on the counter. “They should not give a drunk person that much alcohol.”
“Erm yeah,” Lila said nervously “Have you seen Max today?”
“No why?” Ellen moaned into the counter.
“Well,” Lila shuffled across the shop and leant on the counter in front of her friend. “You may have confessed undying love for him last night and told him his girlfriend had fat thighs.”
Ellen’s body tensed as this information sunk in.
“Oh god no.”
“Buuuuut,” Lila said smiling from ear to ear, “last week he found out his girlfriend had been cheating on him so they’ve split up.”
Ellen’s head shot up and her vision went all blurry.
“He loved your thighs comment, you spent all night chatting and he wrote his number on your hand, see...” She pointed at Ellen’s fingers and she noticed she did indeed have a number on her hand.
“Now, you wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing what you did last night if you were sober would you?” Lila said giggling.
Ellen suddenly leant down and grabbed her water bottle from under the counter and held it above her head.
“To Champagn!!” She cried.
“Hell yeah!” Ellen replied and they knocked their water bottles together.
Champagne by Sam Smith
‘To the happy couple. I wish I was as lucky as you.’
Derek raised his glass then proceeded to drain it, despite asking one of the impeccably dressed waitresses to refill it without any semblance of a smile on his face only thirty seconds before making his speech. He sat down and wondered where that waitress was now and if she was single. No one at the reception clapped.
The father of the bride, a grey-haired lorry driver, whom was quite an imposing figure due to being near enough to seven foot tall that it didn’t really matter if that measurement was an inch off either way, got up from his seat on the other side of the long table decorated with white ribbons and lumbered over to Derek. He bent down, almost touching Derek’s forehead with his own.
‘Wasn’t much of a best man’s speech. Give it another go,’ growled the father. He walked back over to his seat next to his daughter, flashing her a grin that he was well known for.
The waitress came back over and poured more champagne into Derek’s glass. He sighed and tapped it with a fork as he stood up.
‘I have been informed that some of you may have been expecting a more ostentatious speech from me and have been left feeling disappointed or wanting,’ he announced, slightly louder than he needed to. ‘I apologise. I was utilising an avant-garde approach to the situation, an unpretentious way to show Stuart, my oldest friend and his new wife, Karen, how much I care about them both and wish them the best in their new life together. I would like to offer an explanation of my previous speech in an attempt to demonstrate what I meant. When I said that I wish I was as lucky as Stuart and Karen, I meant that they are one of the happiest couple I have ever had the pleasure of sharing a car journey with. Late last year, we drove up to Liverpool to visit an old university friend of our, whom I am sorry to say could not be here with us today. On that drive up, I was treated to countless examples of heart-wrenchingly sweet displays of affecting between the couple. Even though it was incredibly dangerous to do while driving, they held hands almost the whole journey. They sang along to three different Beach Boys CDs, harmonising beautifully with each other. A multitude of devastatingly intimate nicknames were shared between the two, including “honey cake”, “huggy bug” and, my personal favourite, “smoochie bum”. It was a pleasure to have such a loving pair of soul mates as friends, and what an honour to see it from the back seat of a Ford Fiesta, where I was desperately sending texts to my recent ex-girlfriend to reconsider breaking up with the skiing instructor she had left me for and coming back. When I said that I wish I was as lucky as Stuart and Karen, I really meant it. But obviously, such a short and laboured-over dialogue goes against the conventions of what I have been asked to do. I suppose that I really am quite lucky, as I have been allowed to “give it another go”. So, without further ado, I present my amended best man’s speech,’ Derek cleared his throat. ‘Karen couldn’t spell the word “wedding” if she tried. I have seen Stuart take a shit in a carrier bag on three separate occasions. To the happy couple. I wish I was as lucky as you.’
Derek raised his glass once more and poured the champagne down his throat. He sat down. No one at the reception clapped.
Derek raised his glass then proceeded to drain it, despite asking one of the impeccably dressed waitresses to refill it without any semblance of a smile on his face only thirty seconds before making his speech. He sat down and wondered where that waitress was now and if she was single. No one at the reception clapped.
The father of the bride, a grey-haired lorry driver, whom was quite an imposing figure due to being near enough to seven foot tall that it didn’t really matter if that measurement was an inch off either way, got up from his seat on the other side of the long table decorated with white ribbons and lumbered over to Derek. He bent down, almost touching Derek’s forehead with his own.
‘Wasn’t much of a best man’s speech. Give it another go,’ growled the father. He walked back over to his seat next to his daughter, flashing her a grin that he was well known for.
The waitress came back over and poured more champagne into Derek’s glass. He sighed and tapped it with a fork as he stood up.
‘I have been informed that some of you may have been expecting a more ostentatious speech from me and have been left feeling disappointed or wanting,’ he announced, slightly louder than he needed to. ‘I apologise. I was utilising an avant-garde approach to the situation, an unpretentious way to show Stuart, my oldest friend and his new wife, Karen, how much I care about them both and wish them the best in their new life together. I would like to offer an explanation of my previous speech in an attempt to demonstrate what I meant. When I said that I wish I was as lucky as Stuart and Karen, I meant that they are one of the happiest couple I have ever had the pleasure of sharing a car journey with. Late last year, we drove up to Liverpool to visit an old university friend of our, whom I am sorry to say could not be here with us today. On that drive up, I was treated to countless examples of heart-wrenchingly sweet displays of affecting between the couple. Even though it was incredibly dangerous to do while driving, they held hands almost the whole journey. They sang along to three different Beach Boys CDs, harmonising beautifully with each other. A multitude of devastatingly intimate nicknames were shared between the two, including “honey cake”, “huggy bug” and, my personal favourite, “smoochie bum”. It was a pleasure to have such a loving pair of soul mates as friends, and what an honour to see it from the back seat of a Ford Fiesta, where I was desperately sending texts to my recent ex-girlfriend to reconsider breaking up with the skiing instructor she had left me for and coming back. When I said that I wish I was as lucky as Stuart and Karen, I really meant it. But obviously, such a short and laboured-over dialogue goes against the conventions of what I have been asked to do. I suppose that I really am quite lucky, as I have been allowed to “give it another go”. So, without further ado, I present my amended best man’s speech,’ Derek cleared his throat. ‘Karen couldn’t spell the word “wedding” if she tried. I have seen Stuart take a shit in a carrier bag on three separate occasions. To the happy couple. I wish I was as lucky as you.’
Derek raised his glass once more and poured the champagne down his throat. He sat down. No one at the reception clapped.
Champagne by Nick Trussler
Champoem
Let your sweet tingling bubbles massage my tender lips,
cascade your sweet alcoholic scent along my palate,
evaporating in my mouth,
a drunken cloud arises into my head, swimming, swirling in decadence,
you wouldn't get that from a bucks fizz.
Champagne by Ben Hayward
“How about Champagne?”
“No, love.”
“Cherrie, Disaronno?”
She slowly rubbed the bump in her stomach, jumping as she took a swig from her glass.
“Oh, I felt her kick, she must have liked that one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s a sign, what’s this called?”
“Gin love.”
“What like those lamp things?”
“No, the drink, G – I – N”
“Isn’t she in Harry Potter?”
“What?”
“Yeah, she’s that ginger bitch who can’t act, I’m not naming my kid after her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh this one gave me another kick, what’s this called?”
“Lambrini.”
“Ooh that’s fancy like one of them pretty cars, I like that one.”
“Are you saying that our daughter is a car?”
“No, of course not, I was just saying that it’s cute.”
“Well we don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl yet do we.”
“Yeah but I’ve already got the boy’s name done.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”
“Braxton Hicks, I heard it somewhere recently. It sounds pretty refined.”
“No, love.”
“Cherrie, Disaronno?”
She slowly rubbed the bump in her stomach, jumping as she took a swig from her glass.
“Oh, I felt her kick, she must have liked that one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s a sign, what’s this called?”
“Gin love.”
“What like those lamp things?”
“No, the drink, G – I – N”
“Isn’t she in Harry Potter?”
“What?”
“Yeah, she’s that ginger bitch who can’t act, I’m not naming my kid after her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh this one gave me another kick, what’s this called?”
“Lambrini.”
“Ooh that’s fancy like one of them pretty cars, I like that one.”
“Are you saying that our daughter is a car?”
“No, of course not, I was just saying that it’s cute.”
“Well we don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl yet do we.”
“Yeah but I’ve already got the boy’s name done.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”
“Braxton Hicks, I heard it somewhere recently. It sounds pretty refined.”
Champagne by Alison Wink
‘Champagne, Madam? No? A soft drink, perhaps? Or something hot - tea, coffee? Ah, I understand - Madam is not thirsty, but would be interested in something a little more hard-hitting. If you would allow me to fetch our drugs menu, I will send our sommelier over to assist with your choice. Thank you.’
‘Good evening, Madam. Would you like an upper or a downer this evening? A euphoric? Then, may I suggest Ecstasy? No? Ah, Columbian Cocaine – very lightly cut with corn starch. A very good choice if I may say so.’
‘Good evening, Madam. Would you like an upper or a downer this evening? A euphoric? Then, may I suggest Ecstasy? No? Ah, Columbian Cocaine – very lightly cut with corn starch. A very good choice if I may say so.’
Champagne by Samuel Gore
Champagne. The champion of drinks. It’s all there in the name. My name is Bill Hicks. I started this bottle at three. Two bottles later and I are on the ground, that’ll teach me to climb a tree, when I can’t get down. Tell me, lover. Will you go to bed with me, Don’t worry I have a rubber, see? Oh shit...
Champagne by Emily Chadwick
“Congratulations on your graduation!”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want some champagne?”
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink? But you’re a student.”
“I don’t like the taste.”
“Drinking isn’t about the taste.”
“I don’t like the feeling either.”
“Well, you won’t get drunk off a little bit of champagne.”
“Can I just have some coke instead? Please.”
“All right, but don’t say later that I didn’t offer you any champagne…”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want some champagne?”
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink? But you’re a student.”
“I don’t like the taste.”
“Drinking isn’t about the taste.”
“I don’t like the feeling either.”
“Well, you won’t get drunk off a little bit of champagne.”
“Can I just have some coke instead? Please.”
“All right, but don’t say later that I didn’t offer you any champagne…”
Champagne by Meg Burrows
Six Champagne Bottles sitting on the wall
Watching over the family having a merry ball,
But if one champagne bottle should accidentally fall….
It would be a royally expensive pile of pooh to clear up,
the kitten would be drunk by noon.
Watching over the family having a merry ball,
But if one champagne bottle should accidentally fall….
It would be a royally expensive pile of pooh to clear up,
the kitten would be drunk by noon.
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