[Fortunately, I’d already documented this episode on here. So here goes…]
Southern Comfort and peppermint.
18th birthday was spent on a pub crawl in Gosport dodging the matelots and my sister.
Went out wearing nice new jacket and ended the night being placed in a bin in the park very drunk*.
Was sick on jacket so “mates” eventually tipped me over and forced me to walk around like a tortoise with the bin for my shell.
Finally puked everywhere and “mates” helped me out of the bin and got home to find a KFC tub of BBQ beans had been poured into my inside pocket.
The words Southern Comfort, alone, bring back this experience so vividly that to even consider adding peppermint to the mix makes me almost gag.
*Cue predictions for how little I’d drunk.