I first started drinking alcohol when I was sixteen years old, at the start of the summer soon after my GCSEs. My mate Darren had got the keys for his parents’ mobile home which was in Bundoran. The people who ended up going on this adventure was me, Darren, his girlfriend Anna, Matt, Shane and some other people who I only knew by face at the time.
 We arrived to find that the campsite was about fifteen minutes walk from the town centre. It was probably this fact that contributed towards the assumed knowledge that we wouldn’t be going near any pub or event. It immediately was clear to us that the only times we would be leaving that campsite would be to get more alcohol or food.
 This was to be the first time I would find out what exactly the whole big deal with alcohol was, although I didn’t plan on this. I was to discover the overall effect of the small ethanol molecules that induce the mind to move to a different level, and cause the human being to behave differently. Ethanol soon became known to me to be a controlled substance, mostly because in school in chemistry classes the ethanol there has a little methanol mixed in by the suppliers. Methanol is poisonous, and so effectively prevents anyone trying to make class a little more interesting by swallowing a mouthful or two of highly concentrated ethanol. But this great idea apparently doesn’t work because a friend of mine did this a few times, and was reassuring that it seemed to work ok without any obvious side-effects.
 Whenever we got to our final destination and left our bags, Darren and Matt marched in a good orderly fashion directly to the nearest alcohol supplier. They loaded up on beer and Hennessy. I didn’t go with them because I didn’t intend to drink that night because I was a little scared of the unknown, I must admit. Looking back, it now seems alien to me the fear of alcohol I had then, exactly as alien as alcohol seemed to me then. I had no idea what it was like in the drunk’s mind, the mind possessed by the firm grip of alcohol. All I knew about it was the symptoms, the outsider’s point of view.
 Early in the night, Matt offered me a glass of Hennessy and I well accepted. “Better now than later,” I thought. He swiftly produced a pint glass and poured about three inches into the bottom, and added sparkling orange to take the level up to about three-quarters the way up. Although I didn’t know much about alcohol, I guessed that this was going to be quite strong. But at this point I didn’t mind at all. I was among some of my closest friends so it was unlikely that anything was going to go too wrong. If I was to experience this, then I may as well do it according to the “all or nothing” principle. I swallowed the glass’ contents with Matt on hand to refill my glass. During this time we were playing card games. I think it was about an hour or so after I first started drinking that I totally lost control and was to some degree unaccountable for my actions.
 I awoke the following day at around 1pm. Looking back, it’s amazing to think I woke up with no hangover at all. I was just feeling a little tired. The realization of the lost time the previous night came to me suddenly; I never had this experience before. I felt the immediate need for someone to clarify what exactly happened, so I lazily rolled out of the single bed and stood up in an unstable manner in the small space between the two beds. Nobody was in the other bed. I looked down and noticed I was wearing my best blue shirt, jeans and shoes. I wasn’t wearing these clothes the night before, so I needed to talk to someone about this very urgently. I took a step towards the door and I nearly fell onto the bed. Clearly, I was still under the strong influence of ethanol. But I managed to gain control and make it to the door. It took a strong effort to push the door open because something was leaning against the other side. This stubborn obstruction turned out to be two road signs, but I didn’t stop to see what they said. I later found out these road signs were nothing to do with me, they’re part of another story for another time.
 It turned out the previous night was quite interesting and eventful. The evidence of that was supported by the surprising fact that of the two bottles of  Hennessy on site, there was only about half a bottle left. Matt said he drank a few glasses, and I had the rest. It seemed apparent that I drank over a full bottle of Hennessy in about two hours or so. At first I was shocked and thought this was an insane amount to drink. I’ve only drank that much or so less than ten times in the last few years. For that reason I don’t necessarily think I drank all as stated. I think there was a breakdown in communication somewhere along the line where somebody else had some as well. Maybe Darren had some, which I would expect because it was his property. But he also had a lot of beer bought as well. You can never say that Darren is unprepared for such a situation. Thinking about it now, I still owe him money for that bottle.
 During the night, the atmosphere was as warm as lying under a generous sun on the beach. We were playing card games but after a while things slowed down due to the raw fact that now and again I proceeded to play a different game to everyone else. We were all either drinking and/or in good humour so things like this didn’t really matter. Given Matt’s account, it seemed like my experience (or mood) went through stages. During the first stage, I was as happy as a horse with hay, and sometimes I even made sense. After the cards, we were sitting around talking about God knows what and after a brief period of silence I tried to start a row with Shane, one of the fellows present. I repeatably accused him of uttering offensive things to me, namely about my mother, and I feebly attempted to cross the floor space between our seats and strike him. But this decision resulted in me on my hands and knees, crawling and swinging my fist above me blindlessly in the air. I was completely helpless; the mind was trying to achieve what the body simply wasn’t capable of doing. The mind was functioning like an arrow shot into the dark and the body was limping behind trying to follow like a blind dog with only one back leg. Thankfully Shane took my astonishing attitude with good grace, and left me to it. He didn’t need to do anything, I had already put myself beyond use. It’s a good job he did so because he was far bigger and stronger. He would have wrapped one hand around my throat and snapped my neck like a twig ready for the fire, and that would have been the end of that.
 Soon after that escapade, I was in a severely compromised position where I absolutely had to vomit, maybe partially to try and get that horrible feeling out of me. Vomiting makes a very drunk person feel better because they are physically removing some of whatever it is causing this from that person’s body. Although maybe it doesn’t, maybe it’s just the psychological effect of removing something from the system. The problem I had was finding the door to the outside world (a door that was about a whole four metres away). The toilet would have been enough but the door to outside was closer, I was sure of that much. But my problems were over as soon as a muttered the words “I need to be sick”, because Darren acted as fast as a bullet to grab me and hurl me head-first out the door. I guess he was thinking of the stains in the carpet that his parents wouldn’t be too pleased to discover. But the carpet was safe and I was lying on my chest on the grass outside chugging and spluttering my insides on the ground all around myself. I mustn’t have been at my most beautiful.
 I was left in that very position for a period of time (maybe an hour or so) for good measure to ensure my stomach has had every opportunity to clean itself out, the carpet was always the main priority. Then I was carried back inside, with the obvious intention of putting me to bed. Whenever they got me to the bedroom door, I told Darren and Matt to put me down. They argued, and I accepted the requirement for me to go to bed. We all agreed my brain wasn’t quite able to cope with the current environment momentarily.  But before I’d go quietly, I insisted that I must be dressed my best for the final occasion. I honestly can’t explain why, but it must have seemed like a great idea at the time. So with their help, I was climbing into bed in my best shirt and jeans. My shoes stayed on, and they say the Devil sleeps beside you when you fall asleep with shoes on. But luckily for me it was a single bed, no room at the inn.
 So that concludes my good friend Matt’s version of events, and I know it’s a reliable version. To be honest the whole adventure could have been a lot worse, maybe Matt just thought it would be better not to tell me the worst of it, if worse events on my part occurred. But what was laid out on the table in words was enough for me. I found the whole “drunken” experience very interesting, although it would have been better if I hadn’t consumed as much. There were only two things that bothered me. One of them was my attempted violent behaviour towards Shane. I liked him ever since I first met him. I rarely seen him after that weekend, but whenever I did we got on well. I was thankful he was such a good sport about it, he was pleasant to me and I was pleasant to him. But I have yet to account for my poor attitude towards him, nobody could say an honest bad word about him. He also has never done anything against me, therefore I had no reason to dislike him. On the basis of this, I must ask myself why the accusing behaviour?
Personally I think my behaviour towards Shane was the uncovering of some hidden emotion, one that was unknown to me. I don’t believe that a drunk person’s words are a sober person’s thoughts (but maybe to some degree they are) but I feel that maybe through the hazy cloud of ethanol a person can direct any negativity that surfaces during the drunken state towards the first person they see. I was never full of that much negativity, because things could have been a lot worse.
 From this experience I can safely say that not a lot was learned: ethanol is still consumed. If anything, I don’t drink to the point where I lose track of events (mostly!).
 The second thing that bothered me about that event was definitely the most bothersome. That was the simple raw fact that looking back on the series of events, and certain things that came back to memory about that night a few days after, the whole experience wasn’t enough for me. Not even close.