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One of the most embarrassing things that has ever befallen yours truly took place, ooooh, what, about seven years ago now. Thankful for the anonimity QOTW provides (mostly), I'll elaborate on a reply I made earlier.

First, some boring back story.

Seven years ago, life was sweet. I was newly married, had a little job I liked working (mostly) with people I liked, and lived in a smashing little house with the then Mrs. Bag. It was the weekend before christmas, and my workmates and a few of my friends and I went to our local pub. Now, in those days most of the people who are now barred from the place were still allowed in there, and after a happy hour that lasted the whole night, my best mate and myself left the pub a bit tipsy and became involved in a slight scuffle with twelve of the local neds. We got our heads panned in, in other words. I escaped, but was later transported, concussed, to hospital to get staples in my split head and my swollen shut eye attended to, where I found my mate in a hospital bed with a head the size of, well, two heads.

A week later, new year's eve rolls round, and as the Mrs. was working nightshift and we were a bit nervy about going out and about after what happened, me and my mate decided to bring in the new year in his room in his parents house. I arrived with a bottle of vodka, but he said he wasn't drinking.

"If we'd not been as drunk last week, we'd have walked away from them and none of this would have happened" he said, and I had to admit he was right. He then produced a rolled up hanky, from which he pulled a small cube of hash. Not being a smoker, he had decided to crumble it into after eights and eat it. Now, I liked a drink and still do, but I'd never really tried anything else, but I thought ach, what harm can it do? So we set about the task of eating what he told me was £20 worth of hash.

Half an hour goes by. Nothing. We eat a bit more. Nothing. A bit more. And then the funniest thing on earth happened. I can't for the life of me remember what it was, but for a good ten minutes we rolled around the floor laughing our heads off. As I looked through tear sodden eyes at my mate, I could see a look of concern on his face. And then he said it. "I think we've ate too much!"

The next hour or so is just a hazy memory. I couldn't get my bearings and I was really freaked out. The room seemed to be expanding and retracting around me and I couldn't focus on anything, so I decided to try and puke the foul stuff up. Making the epic journey to the bathroom, a trip of around 10 feet, was like some kind of mountain trek, but I made it, barrelled through the door, shoved my fingers down my bone dry throat and began retching away like a cat bringing up furballs.

Nothing was coming up, but I kept trying. As I stood there with what felt like my whole arm down my throat, I suddenly had a weird sensation of being watched. I turned my reddened face towards the bath and was greeted with the only clear memory I have of that night. There, lufa in hand, sat my mates dad, merrily scrubbing away at his armpits. I tried to apologise, but he just said in the cheeriest voice you've ever heard "Don't be silly, son, if it needs to come up just you get it up!" and continued scrubbing away at himself. I didn't argue. I couldn't! My brain had melted into some kind of molten sludge, so I just swallowed my arm again and stood there dry boaking for a further five minutes before giving up, whimpering "I want my mum" (Oh God the shame!) and getting driven home by my mates mum.

I remember the car wouldn't start. I was CONVINCED this was an omen of my impending death. I spent the rest of the night curled up on the couch in my parents house and every time I closed my eyes, I'd see screenshots from the old Dan Dare game on the spectrum for some reason. The doctor was called out, and was slightly confused when I swore blind I hadn't taken anything but hash. It was three days before I felt normal again. Three days!

Up until about two years ago, I believed we had eaten the whole £20 worth. Not so however, my mate straightened me out on that one. He had sold the remainder back to the person he bought it from, and says between us we ate less than he's seen some people put in a single joint.

Why it affected me so strangely I don't know, but I tried grass a few years later and it did the same thing, although a healthy dose of alcohol stopped the worst of it a few hours after I'd smoked it. I guess I'm just not wired up for those kind of things.

When I think back to that night I absolutely crumple up with shame. The house was full of people I know, but I can't remember who was there and who wasn't.

"I want my mum."

I was twenty four years old. Oh God I'm going to lie down under my bed for a while.

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