The drunk friend.

Every group of friends has that one guy who on every night out, trip to the pub or 'just a couple' session forgets about all the rules and limits of alcohol consumption. Who allows so much booze to fly down their gullets that they physically cannot take another sip without the risk of draining all of their internal organs out of every possible exit. The guy that borderlines being called a full on, fully committed and proud alcoholic.

And here, in the wonderfully awful city of Coventry whereby I study, that is no exception.

In the photo above I present to you our residential vodkaholic. Our boozer cruiser. The hangover master. Aaron Reay.

Now most people reading this might be confused into why I'm writing this in the first place and to be honest I'm not sure either. 

It might be because it's past midnight on a Saturday and I'm bored or the fact that I am genuinely astounded at the level of drinking this man can do, or at least try. Either way it is something worth writing and reading about.

Aaron Reay.

He's the type of guy who usually won't say much. Never be a problem to anyone. But will always, and I emphasis the word always, find the time to come out and socialise with his mates if it involves some sort of mind altering beverage. This is when the usually tame Dr Jekyll will turn into the unpredictable but completely hilarious Mr Hyde, or Reay in this sense. 

To prove my point I will give a very brief summary of last nights antics, which turned out to be one of the more peculiar nights drinking we had had at our favourite pit of pints and shots.

We go to the same pub every Friday of every week of every month. It's cheap, it's cosy and it's where we look forward to being from Monday morning to Friday afternoon. It's where we are in our element and for a certain individual, where he is in his natural habitat. 

Usually we'll leave at around eight pm and make our way to the boozer to get our regular seats. However, on this night a certain someone wished to start early and began guzzling a £2.50 bottle of syrup flavoured wine about an hour before we set off. 

'Aaron what you doing that for?'

>Between gulps of wine< 'Why not? I want to get FACKED up!'

This sentence has been uttered before and every time it leaves his hairy face there is the same evaluation. That no sentence has ever been stated before which has so much truth and certainty to it. If he says he is going to 'get FACKED up', it is indeed what he will do. 

And he did. 

Two hours in I looked across towards the oaf to find him staring at the table, as if he was confused to what it was for. 

'Aaron, you OK mate?'

His head rose and his eyeballs locked onto mine, one at one moment and the other catching up a second later. His face was pink, his cheeks low and he clocked over in his head the question asked. 

'Yes, I'm getting another drink.' < he then finished off his still half full double vodka and lemonade, stood up, stumbled, farted, and wandered to the bar like a pilgrim on his way to the holy grail. He then returned to the same spot he was at before, pity and desperation dripping off him with every stare. 

He stayed like this for a little while and it didn't take long before we wished to test him, to see whether he was capable of continuing or not. 

'Aaron, stick both you feet behind your head!'

This might seems like an utterly bizarre request but with Aaron it is not. He is by far the most flexible person I have met, which is even stranger considering he's a lad of larger proportions, and he has many of times stuck his feet behind his head to prove his flexibility.

Aaron looked up to see a line of faces staring at him, or to him a constant moving wave of heads all with grins and expressions of hope that he would attempt the task.

'OK' was his reply and this answered the first question; is he really really drunk?- Yes, he most certainly is to do this in the middle of a pub.

He then lifted his left leg and with ease and placed his left foot behind his head. 

He then lifted his right leg and began to swerve from left to right like he was on a boat. 

About half way up he needed assistance and we made sure he had the sufficient balance to complete the task. That's the type of friends we are.

Then, to our amazement his right leg, albeit with it being accompanied with another arse burp, suppased his chin and his right foot was behind his head with his left. 

We all felt slightly disappointed that he was able to complete this task as we realised he was perhaps not as drunk as we first hoped. This is not to say we rely on his state of drunkenness to determine the quality of the night, that would be silly... but it does help.

With a sigh we all got back to consuming our pints and chatting away, leaving Aaron locked in the position above. And it didn't take long before the inevitable happened. 

With a giggle, an 'oh fuck' and another arse whisper, his body came crashing down onto the table with such a thud we all felt a level on concern for his wellbeing. But this was not needed because after we all said our 'are you ok's?' we were greeted but his face, smiling like the cheshire cat and full of joy saying 'yes'. We then all let out a sigh of relief. Not that he was OK but because we were correct in our initial predictions. That our vodka champion was, in fact, absolutely battered.