I am the Walrus

It is a univeral fact that nothing is funnier than a friend's drunken antics... unless you're somehow detrimentally affected by your (ex)friend's actions. This is the story of Seb.

Our then-new housemaster (I go to a boarding school) had decided to host a Christmas Dinner for all members of my house's sixth form in order to win our affection and discipleship. Upon initiation, he had belligerently left his mark on all aspects of our school life, like a dog urinating on every lampost on a street. I guess the dinner was to compensate for his needless, and often whimsicle, modifications. In any case, it was guaranteed to be a disaster the moment he decided to let us regulate our own alcohol consumption.

I was seated next to Seb (a rather eccentric friend with whom I've shared a love-hate relationship for years) and it wasn't long before he'd managed to hoover up all the available alcohol on the table. The evening may have still been uneventful, however, had he not also quaffed a whole bottle of port before the event. It was obvious from the off that Seb would make the night unforgettable.

Initially, it was hard to determine whether Seb was hyper or drunk. It began by him leaning over and sniffing (loudly) the rather attractive teacher next to him, it steadily progressed to him practically shouting to me about how "hot" and "fit" she was, it culminated in his sudden disappearance from the table. After ten minutes, I decided to track him down before he insisted on sniffing any innocent members of the public.

It wasn't difficult to track him down, he was confusedly ambling around the building whilst humming tunelessly to himself. My immediate instinct was to remove him from the vicinity of our Führer before he landed himself in any trouble. However Seb was seemingly determined to cause as much chaos as physically possible. In fact, his instantaneous reaction was to drop down to the floor, wallow and flap around on his face and shout out "I AM THE WALRUS". Unsurprisingly, this strange outburst attracted the attention of a nearby teacher. Sadly my first reaction was to tell him that we were playing charades, something not abetted by Seb's denial of this defence. However Seb decided this wasn't quite enough.

No, Seb wasn't quite pleased enough with himself until he'd managed to throw up a whole lump of chicken on our Führer's shoes and asked him to inflate his newly acquired blow-up girlfriend (which was duly confiscated). His mother was eventually called to pick what was left of him up.

How it made the journey twice is anyone's guess.