Always Read the Label Chapter 6 Punch Drunk

I must have fallen asleep after eating and find myself coming round to a place very similar to where I left. No palms to fan me this time though. The film is still on and at roughly the same point as I remember which either means I slept for a very short time or it's the second time it's been played. Making tea will get me away from this (again). I ask who wants one and head out to sort this, flicking the light on as I pass the switch to suddenly animated protests from the audience which are soon muffled by the noise of the boiling kettle.
When I return with the tea, the lights have been turned off again to allow the washed out glow of the TV to dominate. I kick something that sloshes its contents onto the floor. Sat in front of the sofa within reach of both Johnnie and Tommo is a bucket with a plastic pop bottle bobbing about in the water it holds. On top of the bottle, inside the cap, is a crudely fitting hat of tinfoil with a scatter of holes in the top, some of which are filled with sticky grey ash.
This is known simply as 'A Bucket'. The name's pretty straight forward, but how it ever got discovered, never mind became popular, makes the mind boggle. Curiosity killed Fat Freddy's cat. You'd have to be pretty stoned to think about cutting the bottom off a plastic bottle, pushing it down into a bucket of water and then lighting your choice of cannabis before pulling it upwards to fill the inside of the bottle with smoke. That's before working out that if you remove the tin foil top, put your thumb over the hole until you can get your mouth over it, then push down, the water cools and forces the smoke deep into your lungs. Or maybe it's more common for people to have water filled buckets lying about for this sort of experimenting than I know. It's a very effective discovery but not quite as easily transportable as a packet of Rizla. I've never seen anyone take a hit from a bucket and not collapse coughing afterwards.
I easily manage to prove this theory as I have a turn in an attempt to catch up with what I missed while asleep. Now I have the sore chest and a a look I'm guessing is very similar to the one modelled in the corner by someone who can only now be called Johnnie red eyes. Tommo then has a successful turn at ruining his lungs. It goes quiet as it's too painful to talk and we get swamped with individual thoughts, with only that film attempting a conversation.'It's hurting now' is about right. For a distorted length of time all I can hear around me is a muffled dialogue which I don't feel invited to join in with. Which is a good job as I'm fascinated by how thick the smoke that's filling the room is.

'Well do you want one then?'
I jump and look down to see that it's Johnnie and his red eyes demanding an answer. I don't know what the question was until I see he's holding up his mum's wardrobe mirror with a line on it. Why not? It should make us want to go out. Even if its just to get away from the what's on that screen. It burns as usual on the way down. Throat this time though, so at least you forget about the lungs.
I shuffle off to brush my teeth to get rid of this and all the other tastes that have hung about recently. The mirror confirms I have the fashionable red eye look, but the pupils are starting to grow under their half closed lids. Give it half an hour and I'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed again. I help the transformation by splashing water on my face. As I lean down to do this I realise that a quick burst of deodorant wouldn't go a miss either. I'm at home so have this luxury, but the other 2 must be starting to stink by now.
'Where we off to then?'
I'm answered by Johnnie handing me a lumpy screwed up Rizla with the instruction to swallow, before he says 'Dogs'.
The tiny wrapped bomb of whizz is an unnecessary addition and tastes vile, especially against the Ultrabrite. I grab at a nearby bottle and take a swig, knowing full well that Johnnie has been burping into this all afternoon. My mouth tastes so vile I'm really not bothered. Dogs it is then.

As we head for the door, Johnnie suddenly stops and heads back into the front room.
'I'll just get that film, might bump into Errol later so I can give it back'.
This means Johnnie isn't staying round tonight and plans to either head off to an all nighter, where it's possible he could bump into Errol or go home and watch the film in a more intimate setting, where I hope he won't be bumping into Errol. Anyway we're out the door and perking up by the minute. Even Johnnie proves he's come alive by putting the keys in the ignition at the first attempt.

As we enter the bright and lively pub its apparent we're once again going to have to reacclimatise to the shock of being in a busy place. We've spent so long this afternoon getting out of it that we're going to struggle to get back into it. Waiting to be served at the bar I can just make out Wig near the entrance to the pool room, so we can at least expect some fun curtailing his attempts to chat up anything that moves. Or maybe give him a few chat-up lines we've learnt from the film. Drinks are poured and we head towards him, dodging through the scattered clusters of drinkers. On the way we lose Johnnie to an unknown pest who neither Tommo or I know well enough to chat to.
'Alright Wig'.
'Yeah. What've you been up to then?'
'Just been trying to get a stable door fitted. Bought it from that DIY place. Told my mum I'd fit her one in the kitchen. Pretty hard to fit though'.
He doesn't quite know what to make of that and I'm not sure if anyone has told him it was me who called him last Sunday. I'll leave him guessing while I go and put a marker down for pool. There's someone playing but only one other coin down. I get a wave from the Olympics video game, from just above someone bent down and hammering away at the pads. Must be the long jump by the sound of it. It's Mick, a lad who used to lives near me but moved away recently, who I haven't seen in a while. I let someone straighten up after taking a shot so I can walk round the pool table and over to him. He's friendly, but still as cocky as ever. Suppose that comes from the boxing. We both went together at first, but it became obvious pretty quickly he was actually good at it and dedicated enough to have a few amateur fights. Before being banned, he says for life, for head butting an opponent in the middle of round 3. I asked at the time if he was winning when he did it. 'I was straight after...' came the half serious reply. I shoot the breeze with him and we both ask after each other's mum, but the conversation gets cut short when it's his turn on the video game. I nod and say I'll see him later and return to Wig, to see if he's got any closer to working it out yet, and Tommo. They're chatting to a gaggle of girls so I take the opportunity to have a quick leak.

In the bogs there's a murmur of give away talking from inside one of the cubicles. I unbutton at the trough just as the door opens and out pops Johnnie and the guy he stopped with on the way in. Another small step towards paying off that debt then. Or he's taken to being a rent boy to pay it off more quickly. Which is what I used to think in more naïve times, of not too long ago, when I saw two blokes leaving a toilet together. Johnnie comes and stands next to me just as I'm in full flow, squeezing a sniff from his nose as if to explain. I'm intimidated enough to finish a bit quicker and go to wait for him to at the graffitied door back to the bar. I get a massive urge and start to write, as big as is possible with a biro, 'Wig is a barn door'. Johnnie doesn't see this so I don't need to explain, which is lucky as I can't, as we head back towards Wig and Tommo. The girls are still hanging around and look to have been bought drinks by our tag team of Casanovas. Looks like they've forgot their mates already so I head off to get a refill for me and Johnnie.

I'm still pondering why I recently became an impulsive graffiti artist as I wait to get served. Vlad comes and stands next to me, starting to talk about the party last week, till I interrupt his flow by asking if he wants a drink when I finally get the barman's attention. He carries on unrolling the tale, which I pretty much know, until he mentions he got kicked out by everyone left at the party, just after we all left. I ask him why and he says he thinks it could be because he karate kicked the phone off the wall on his way down the stairs. Which throws a little light onto why he took all the fuses on his way out. I laugh and tell him who else is in tonight, explaining we might be better in the pool room while there's so much smooth talk coming from Wig and Tommo. We head there, collecting Johnnie on the way.

I've obviously missed my place in the queue for a game, not that anyone tried too hard to find me, but the marker is still down. The pair playing now are going about it in a really loud way and it's not just me who's noticing. I've never seen these two acned Hurricane Higgins' before. We ignore it by chatting and sipping near the window, until a ball jumps off the table and comes to rest by us. Hurricane #1 comes over and retrieves it without a word. They manage to finish the game with the rest of the balls on the table, and as the black goes down I move to put the money in the slot, listen to the balls drop out and put them together in the triangle. Without asking Hurricane #2 breaks really hard. It's a good break and means I don't get my first shot until he misses a fourth ball.
'Spots is it?' I can't resist asking though its obvious as he's potted 3 stripes already. The joke goes completely unnoticed as he just flicks me a 'yeah'. I laugh though and fluff what should have been an easy pot. Hurricane #2 is back on the table before the balls have all stopped moving. I have a sip from my drink as he pots another 2 balls in as many shots. The third shot he takes bounces all over the table before pushing the black into the pocket. From nowhere comes victory and a half-sarcastic 'unlucky' from me aimed in his direction. All he can do is snarl a nod and head towards the video game, fuming about it, as I rack the balls up to play Vlad, tossing a coin for who gets to break.

We're 3 shots into the game when there's a dull wet thud that shifts the focus of the room to where it came from. The angry pool player obviously wasn't content being obnoxious at just one sport and had decided to try his hand at another: Video Olympics. Problem is he was acting up against our very own Daley Thompson: Mick the head butting boxer.
Who's now throwing some very accurate punches, which seem to be freezing their target where he stands. Even from here you can see the lights have gone out in the human punchbag's eyes, but something is holding him upright. Which is unfortunate as boxers seem to only let up when their opponent hits the canvas. Two more punches and his mate is forced to find the bravery to step in and shield his mate, getting in the way of a nasty whack for his troubles. Mick stops though, probably thinking it's the referee, and the upright guy stands there, rocking slightly with shell-shock. His mate tries to lead him away but he just turns a complete circle, as if someone's nailed one of his feet to the floor. On the second attempt he steps forward and slowly picks up speed as they walk towards the door.

'Nice one, Rocky' is the first comment from Johnnie which is soon joined by shouts from around the room of 'Adddddddrian' and bursts of 'so you wanna be a boxer', complete with mini shadow boxing routines.
'What did he do Mick?'
'He came over insisting he gets a go straight away. So I started playing against him and when it was my go on the Javelin, he hit the throw button from over my shoulder as I was taking my run-up. I was easily beating him anyway'.
I can't tell if he means in the game or the fight. I think we can agree he was beating him in the fight. Battered senseless for interfering with a video game. Hardly the Olympic Spirit is it? I'll leave you to tell Mick this though.

You'd think this would put a total dampener on the night, but it just seems to reminds everyone who saw it that they're out and trying to have a good time. It wasn't a mass brawl, just some idiot who got a bit too much of a comeuppance. No one outside of the pool room even noticed. More drinks it is then as Johnnie gets our round in, plus one for the reigning champ.

To fuel the delusion, I join in the laughter and hearty re-enactments, at least on the surface, especially when Wig and Tommo return from their fruitless pursuit to join us. But there's a nagging doubt starting to take the gloss off things for me. Tommo had seen the guy leave, but thought he was in that state because he'd taken one of those acid tabs from last night. Which leads to a retelling of last nights adventures, with the conclusion being I looked exactly the same when we left the club as the guy just did when he left the pub now. I have to laugh along to cover the worry that if I could remember, it might be true.

There doesn't seem to be much talk of going on somewhere after, until Johnnie asks if anyone fancies an all nighter in Blackburn. No one does, but that doesn't stop him from heading over that way after he's finished his drink. That'll be the last we see of him until next week so we should get some sleep. Just time for a last drink as we share plans for next weekend. As the pub starts to empty we say goodbyes and head our separate ways.

I set off with Wig, who's going in the same direction until turning off for his house, then keep on walking down the road alone as I'm forced to accept I've walked down here so many times before.

The same old road, heading gently down towards the fork in the distance, after which you can't make out if it ends or continues. Another episode of this recurring late night walk has got me thinking about change, which forces a decision.

It's time to move on.