We were crammed on the train heading down to Auckland's waterfront to join in the Rugby World Cup opening party celebrations. At the front of our carriage were a group of pimply youths - nice enough looking chaps except for the fact they were absolutely slaughtered. Full of hormones, excitement and booze. It was 3pm. They were making loud jovial remarks, largely indistinguishable until a chant built up.."FILL THE BOTTLE!! FILL THE BOTTLE!! FILL THE BOTTLE!!" I looked at Mr D, surely they couldn't be encouraging their mate to piss in a bottle?
They were and eventually he did, and held it proudly aloft. A 1ltr coke bottle now filled with steaming yellow urine. Charming. My mind easily brought forward memories of being horribly drunk, an out of control feeling, needing to piss, needing to vomit, needing to lie down, needing to stop. Down the other end of the carriage I felt great! I was past that now!
A couple of hours later we were pushing the pram along the wharf, through the crowd past a row of newly built bars and restaurants. The sun was streaming down and the crowd was happy and friendly. Trendy parents with kids and mugs of beer sat on wooden benches with the sea lapping nearby. Young professionals laughed together holding shiny glasses of chardonnay and fizz. BAM there was a pain in my belly, a hurt, a pang. Surely not, never again? Really? Never again would I have that fun feeling, that freedom, that abandon. Chatty, hedonistic fun.
Took a bit of mental work at that point. Remember Mrs D, remember.
It had stopped being fun.
It had stopped being fun.
It had stopped being fun.
