I went round to my metaller brothers last night thinking we were in for a cool time hanging out. When I got there my fruitarian brother and my hot shot banker one were there too.
We all went into the living room, and there was Wino Jo, sitting alive and well, looking washed and shaved.
"Hello Tuesday Kid," he said giving me a firm handshake.
"Wino Jo! You're not dead! I thought Foosted Wotsit Head had murdered you!"
I saw the metaller brother and the hot shot banker give each other a funny look.
"So this is a big party to celebrate you coming back, where were you?"
"I was getting dried out," he says, pointing up behind him. I don't know where he was pointing because there's not that much between here and the sea.
"Tuesday Kid," my metaller brother said. "We're hear today to talk to you about some of your problems."
It was then I clocked too late, that I'd just walked in to my own intervention.
"My problems? What problems?" I don't think they were concerned about my lack of sexy lover girls.
"Doing heroin, living with a heroin addict..."
"I've never done heroin."
"You smoke crack," he shouted. "You need to get dried out."
"Crack is freebased cocaine! And I haven't smoked crack since February. What the fuck is this?"
I looked at the Hot Shot Banker, "You read my blog, you should know that I gave up ages ago, why didn't you tell them?"
"I stopped reading it because you were slagging me off," he said looking sulky.
"What about that phonecall the other night?" My metaller brother asked triumphantly. "You were clearly out of it on something."
"I was drunk, you drink too you fucking dickhead. So what if I get pissed? or sniff the odd felt tip? The reality is none of you really give a fuck, and you're all doing this to act like big men (that's a quote I stole from Jeremy Kyle). How long have you all known that Wino Jo was back? and you knew I was worried, and you never told me, and none of you were there when I did give up crack."
None of them could really say anything to this.
"Fuck this," I said. "I'm going home to lick the bowl."
I stormed out of the house. The fruitarian followed me out. He said I should come back because we hadn't hung out in ages. I told him to get fucked, after all the bunches of bananas I bought him when he was rolling about naked in his garden looking like Jungle Barry.
I wandered down to the train station telling myself that I needed to get the fuck out of Sammy Wilson country, and that when I did get home I was seriously going to lick the bowl.
