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smallstepsmadpotepotriemantheartfulcodgerscogterransvoice
Stages



Three stages of drunkenness
That he progressed through;
Giggly and charming at first
Then quickly on to stage two.
He would discuss and argued
In a most  belligerent way
More and more controversial
In the things he had to say,
Until his eyes would glaze
Towards the end of the night
And if we weren't very careful
Next was a stage three fight.

Never with his friends
But anybody else would do
Almost always he would start
Before the night was through.
He would throw a punchy
Most likely he would miss
And he was such a sucker
For a Glasgow kiss,
Some times he would win
But most times he would lose
He was one of those blokes who
Just couldn't handle  booze.

If we were lucky he would instead
Grow lachrymose, start to weep
And not so very long after
Would quickly go to sleep.
We could leave him in a corner until.
He would awake, all belligerence gone,
And with his next drink,
He'd be back to stage one.
Sober he was quite charming
But from somewhere inside
Alcohol would release
The Jekyll from us his Hyde.

In the confines of billet life
Such conduct couldn't go on
Finally the system took him
And he was off and gone.
Stories and rumours would
Occasionally filter back
But over the months
We gradually lost track.
He never tried to keep in touch
So I lost all trace in the end.
I was quite sad really for
He'd been such a good friend.








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