MINDLESS MUSINGS

This one is a double bunger.

Legend has it that Bon Scott, the original front man for AC/DC, died by choking on his own vomit after a heavy drinking session. I cannot positively confirm if this is true, but I can assert that it nearly happened to me on two occasions. One was at the very beginning of my binge drinking era and the other was at the very end.

The first was at the tender age of around 16. It was my mother’s birthday and all the adults were up the yard drinking away. Us kids were all in the kitchen sneaking drinks from my mother’s cask wine. It was sitting on a shelf and we were getting underneath while someone held the trigger so the wine would pour down our throats like in the cartoons; sculling warm red wine “mmm delicious”.

Somewhere along the line I had had enough and I went to bed. My memory is (of course) very fuzzy of what happened next, but I clearly remember spinning out at the TV because it was showing that trippy ‘Rage’ intro on the ABC. I am certain I was alone in there when I crashed.

I awoke to the vomit gurgling in my throat and sat up instantly (Bon Scott demise luckily avoided). I was set to make a mad dash to the toilet when I noticed that a mattress had been laid out beside my bed blocking the doorway. My little cousin was sound asleep and I had no intentions of trampling her on my rush to the crapper; so I did the only thing left to do: I puked all over my blankets, tossed them aside and rolled off the bed on the opposite side from my cousin, where I promptly fell back asleep.

I can remember the door being opened and hearing some of my other cousins talking about the stench of vomit and how I had just slipped off the bed and went back to sleep. Interestingly I don’t recall anyone coming to check if I was okay. Remember they would have all been drunk too. Anyway I survived my first near ‘Bon’ death experience.

The next time this happened I was 30 years old. I had been drinking and betting on horses all day down at my local bowling club. When the races were over, one mate (Nathan) and I decided to continue on to the Oktoberfest celebrations down at the Concordia Club.

After a solid day and night of drinking (and not much eating) I staggered home to my granny flat. It was quite chilly so I did what I normally did on such occasions. I would sit on the floor in front of my couch with the heater going and watch some TV while the room (and my icy mattress) warmed up a bit. I was probably watching Rage again.

I must have fallen asleep and with my head rolled backwards I was in the perfect position for a ‘Bon Scott’ death vomit. Fortunately I awoke in time (again) and proceeded to vomit all over myself and the heater. Disgusting as it was it was still a lot better than death.

I remember tossing my clothes in the laundry sink and trying to mop up the puke from the floor. The worst of it was baked onto the heater.

The next day I had to face my mother and uncle who was down for the weekend. I was so ashamed of myself, but the knowledge of my close call with the grim reaper struck a very loud chord with me. That was the exact moment that I knew I had to cut out my alcohol abuse.

To this day I very rarely drink myself into a drunken state and I have never been ‘shitfaced’ since. I still enjoy a beer, but I will never get that wasted again.