“Drunk last night? Just.. Slightly?” was Tina’s only question after I had, apparently for the second time that day, sent her a picture of the beautiful sunset I experienced earlier that morning.. “Umm.. Slightly? Maybe?” I reasoned as I tried to think back on what had transpired in the previous 24 hours and at which point exactly I’d gotten so intoxicated as to start sending Tina pictures and forgetting about it..
It’d all started pretty innocently. I was in Nyborg with my dad’s family, My half-sister Mie and her boyfriend Dennis had invited me over for dinner (which turned out to be nothing more than kebab takeout) and a few drinks to celebrate (wait that may be the wrong word) that Dennis was leaving the country on a work related task for a number of weeks. It was all cosy good times, especially when a few friends of Mie and Dennis’ started showing up..
First to arrive were a couple, Irene and Morten, and their friend Bo. “You’ll probably get along with these guys,” said Mie, “they’re into Belgian beers and that weird music you like so much.” – “Awesome,” I thought and sat down to make some new friends. It turns out Mie was pretty right. I hit it off with Irene pretty quickly at first, she wasn’t into the whole heavy metal thing but she did like a bit of hard rock and, well, I just seem genetically engineered for getting along with blue eyed blondes (it’s my cross to bear) so of course we got to talking.. As it turned out we’d both been to the same AC/DC show in Copenhagen and so of course that was a main topic of conversation. Irene told me a long shocking story about how up front people had started just randomly bumping into each other in a crazed and unorganized manner which had really shocked her. I almost felt like telling her that “Yeah, it’s called a mosh pit, I know a cute little blonde even smaller than you who love those things”, but account of having now gone five minutes without being labeled a weirdo, I sorta let it slide and we talked on about this or that.
Whereas I’d gotten along pretty well with Irene, I hit it off even better with her boyfriend, Morten and their friend Bo. They were, like me, metal heads with a burning interest and dedication to the genre. We immediately hit it off talking about things like classic thrash acts, the great loss that was the death of Ronnie James Dio, Iron Maiden, Priest, musical styles and festivals. Bo had brought a cheap bottle of Amarone for quaffing and so it really seemed only appropriate that we got ourselves a few glasses, distanced ourself from the crowd (which was now growing with the arrival of more friends) and had ourselves a little wine while discussion such important influences as the merits and influence of Norwegian black metal and wether it was actually worth listening to or just a mix of double bass drum and deliberately bad production. Apparently at some point, wine turned to a grand tasting of a shitload of Belgian beers that Bo had also brought and the discussion went from somewhat factual and intelligent over exchanges of random insults to thought experiments involving the creating of a fictional best possible hard rock and metal supergroup.
“Flute!”, I eventually shouted during our rock super group discussion, “we need Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull playing flute!” – “YES!,” cried Morten, and in a pretty strange move we both, without coordination and warning jumped to our feet and started imitating a staggering Ian Anderson standing on one leg playing the flute, this went on for a few seconds before we simultaneously looked at each other and went “uhh..” – “Didn’t I tell you you’d get along just fine?” someone yelled in the background.. “Apparently so,” I reasoned and sat back down. Things went from bad to worse to ridiculous as more strong Belgian brews hit the table and I must admit that this might have been where I started getting slightly intoxicated and the whole trip towards the point where I started messaging Tina and sending her pictures without any recollection of the events started.. But at this point the night was still young and I still had a lot more beer to drink.. Even so things were starting to get a little hazy. Next thing I remember is Morten and I engaged in a typical drunken round of “which B-word is better, Bacon or Breasts?” discussion. Which somehow inspired Morten to turn to his lovely girlfriend and pose the question “How would you like some bacon on your breasts?” – “Morten, NO!” I had the time to shout before slapping my palm across my forehead and looking down, muttering “now you’ve done it!”
Irene, of course, became furious and none to impressed with either one of us. Quite luckily for Morten, I seemingly have quite the grip on young ladies and so I sat down to tell Irene a bit about how blokes sometimes have a little too much to drink and say or do stupid shit, thinking it’s really funny when in reality we would usually recognize it’s not.. As if sent from heaven to prove my point, Dennis, who had been MIA for a while suddenly came half thrashing, half tumbling into the living room, yelling something entirely incoherent and proceeded to delete the playlist (which after hours of bickering had been agreed on by both the metal and the pop crowd) and blast first some 30 seconds of an Iron Maiden track followed by half a Hammerfall song and some Manowar, then belched loudly and proceeded back out the door and to his bed where he immediately passed out.. “See what I mean?” I smiled at Irene, raising my glass for a toast, and was rewarded with a smile in return.. And so we downed our beers and all was again well.. Once again, Johan saved the day (or in this case, the night!)
With one problem solved a new one pretty quickly emerged. Dennis had trashed our playlist and new music was to be put on. For those of you who have not been in this particular predicament, let me just say that getting drunk metalheads and people who are predominantly into radio friendly pop to agree on a soundtrack isn’t the easiest feat in the world, so a bit of diplomacy (and a fair amount of shushing, I might add) was in order. For the sake of making the pop kids shut up, I put on some pretty easy listening pop music and kinda took it from there, quieting down the opinionated (and loud) metal crowd and trying to find something that everybody could agree on. The answer to this seemingly impossible task proved surprisingly simple: AC/DC! Which seemed the only thing we could all agree on, despite some mutterings in the corners about how things could have been better, confirming my suspicion that everybody likes AC/DC.. With that out of the way, it became time to select a song which proved even harder what with the ten odd people in attendance now each shouting their favorite AC/DC songs at the top of their lungs.. It was quite a mess as everyone went through their personal lists of favorites. Only Irene stuck to one song, yelling “THE JACK!! THE JACK!!” at me over and over again while using the traditional blonde weapons of batting eyelashes and begging looks..
“But you do realize what that means for you, right?”, I yelled back, making an inappropriate reference to the fact that over the years a lot of young women have used this song as an excuse to show off their, uhh, attributes during live performances of the song.. Which, believe it or not, prompted the young girl to stand up right in front of me, smile and pull down her tank top.. Needless to say, The Jack it was then, and I honestly don’t quite remember what came afterwards music wise.. All’s I know is I had to give the girl credit for her dedication to her favorite song and that she responded by pulling me close in a hug and whispering in my ear to “remember her for this” .. Right, eh, how could I forget?
At this point in the evening, the clock had approcahed 3 AM, Dennis had already gone to bed, people were getting nicely smashed, some downright drunk. Irene, Morten and Bo soon made their exits, arguing that they had probably had well beyond their fill. A couple of Mie’s friends left as well, leaving only Mie and I, and her friends Hans and Maria. Having no real desire to go to bed just yet, we decided to pay homage to an ancient Danish tradition which stipulated that if you were to party on the night before Whitsunday, you should do so in a manner that you’re still awake and well to watch the sun rise on Whitsunday morning. With daybreak an hour away, we figured we’d make it and as such, we gathered up a few beers and some hard ciders as well as the dog who needed a walk anyways and slowly but steadily made our way towards the east-facing beach where we figured we’d watch the sunrise.
Along the way, we chatted happily, making as much sense as we possibly could in our intoxicated state and eventually made it to the beach where we found a bench, sat down, opened a few brews and watched the sun start to paint the horizon. As the birds started chirping more enthusiastically and it grew lighter, the sun revealed not only the stunning landscape around us, but also a small bridge leading into the water at the end of which sat a lone figure watching the sunrise. Me being incredibly chatty and social while drunk found it odd that this guy should be sitting out there alone, so I grabbed a few beers from the stash and set off towards the bridge. “Be careful,” Mie yelled after me, “You’ve no idea what kinda person he is! And he might be German!” – “That’s quite alright,” I shouted back, staggering slightly, “I know Karate.. AND bad German!” – and so I continued on.
As I reached the bridge with the slightly perplexed gentleman sitting at the end of it, my first question was a shout of “You’re not German, are you?” – “God no,” he yelled back. “Okay..” I proceeded.. “I brought beer!” – “Awesome!” came the reply, and I somehow managed to stagger all the way out to the end of the bridge and sit down next to my new friend without falling into the water.. And so, as the sun rose over the water and the fair town of Nyborg, Denmark, we chatted happily, sipped our beers and took pictures of the spectacle in front of us.. Perhaps it was the moment, perhaps it was the beauty of it all, I don’t know.. But it really is the last thing I remember completely and coherently from that evening cum morning. From there on it was pretty much a matter of shaking hands with my new friend, saying goodbye to him as well as to Mie and the others, then making my way back “home” to my dad and Birthe’s place where I was to spend the night.
A lot of stuff apparently happened along the way, including getting lost on the way that I had walked a million times before, apparently texting Tina and attatching pictures of the sunrise and eventually making it home at around 6:30 AM where I apparently made such a ruckus that I woke the entire house before I proceeded to cook either bacon or bacon-like substances stinking up the entire house but apparently cleaning up after myself afterwards so that the next day everybody, myself included, were rather perplexed as to what exactly I had been cooking and where I had gotten bacon or bacon-smelling substances from.. I myself really had no clues to offer as I didn’t even remember texting Tina which, according to my calculations must have happened at least half an hour earlier than the bacon incident.
All I know for sure is I woke at around 3 PM the next day, feeling a little hung over but thinking that things hadn’t been too crazy the night before and that I didn’t get too drunk or anything. Of course I may only have thought so because I didn’t really remember half of the shit that happened, including some of the stupid, drunken shit I did..