I'd like to say as a follow up to my last post Self harming and drawing Alsatians, waking up with such etiquette as Sue Ellen after a hen doo in Newcastle is no longer the repetitive ritual that was most days of the week, which was pretty much throughout my twenties. Oh, and last night. The one good thing about being on psychiatric drugs is that it makes one a cheap date, however, the downside of being on psychiatric drugs is that it makes one a cheap date, cheap being the operative word. Great if you want a quickie in a telephone box to pay for your cab home, bad if you're having a drinking work meeting.
Here's an example - unfortunately names are with-held - I once attended a meeting with beep re commissioning some material for the beep show. Now at the time I was also writing for beep magazine and was scheduled to attend an exclusive sex party with one of the magazines photographers to do a piece on what goes on at these places. The meeting started off well, ideas were noted, the Shiraz was flowing, and Beep even said he'd come to the sex party so long as the camera stays out of his face. Much of the rest of the meeting was a blur but I do have vague memories of crying and throwing up into my hand-bag, and I somehow recall driving off in the back of a cab, hair stuck to my Alice Cooper eyes with sick and tears shouting out of the window to beep "Are you still coming to the sex party?"
I never heard from him again.
The sex party hurt my eyes.
Pic - some REAL alsatians