When one wakes up with a toothbrush inserted approximately 2 inches up ones anal passage, and enough strawberries and cream surrounding ones groin area to serve an afternoon tea party. One has to ask some serious questions. How did this happen? Why does my head hurt so bad? Why does my bum hurt so bad? Where am I? Who am I?
Tentatively I remove the toothbrush from my anus and rid myself of the strawberries and cream with one edge of the duvet. Stumbling from my single bed, I make my way across the tiled floor to the doorway. My mind awash with a multitude of thoughts and yet no thoughts at all. I open the door and am instantly consumed by the heat of the midday sun. Like a fireman shrouded in the smoke of burning building, I throw out my arms and make my way along the external wall of the room, to where I know the shower block is. The small bathroom mirror, being the object of my desire. When I reach it, I wish that I had not have bothered. The evidence of heavy drinking is written all over my countenance. My eyes are darkened and wrinkled well beyond their 19 years of existence. My hair, yes I had hair in those days, shows signs of severe bed head. A scientist could possibly work out how long I have slept for by careful observation of its ruffles.
My arms stretched out before me, the palms of my hands flat against the bathroom wall, I lean forward and stare into the reflection of my eyes. I am searching for the answers to the questions that I have just posed myself. Somewhere behind me I hear Luke calling my name, and my vacuous spell is broken.
"Andy, Andy, where are you you daft prick?", he yells with nothing but platonic love in his voice.
"I'm here", I respond, suddenly remembering who I actually am.
Conveniently, Luke's refection enters my field of vision without the necessity to move from my current position.
"We couldn't wake you this morning", he tells me.
"Matty is not happy with you, he heard all about your shenanigans and we're not sure if you're going to get thrown off. We tried our best mate, but what were we supposed to say?".
What were they suppose to say indeed? I think to myself.
"Just one question Luke. What the fuck are you talking about?", actually two, and "why did I awake with a toothbrush in my rectum and strawberries and cream all over my manhood?". (ok that's technically three).
And enlighten me he did. But first let me enlighten you with some background information.
Luke and I have been on a kibbutz since January. We had expected bright sunshine upon our arrival, instead we got rain and cold. It's now mid April and the sun doth shine.
But what is a Kibbutz?
Kibbutz's were largely set up after the 2nd world war, when the Jewish diaspora came flooding back to the "promised land", after many, many years of exile. Here they set up their communes, where everybody could live happily and work for no money. Instead they got everything for free. Food, drinks, toiletries, entertainment, childcare etc. In later years these communes started to falter, as the kibbutniks decided they wanted more in life than the meagre existence that the kibbutzes could offer. As they left in numbers, they were replaced by volunteers from all over the world. Volunteers who left their homes in Helsinki, Quito, New York and Manchester to come and help the kibbutzes get back on their feet. In exchange for their time, the volunteers would get the chance to party in the promised land, where necessities were without cost and luxury came in the form of freedom from the materialist world. Luke and I were lured by thoughts of an extended party with like minded souls. We did not even have to leave the confines of our room, for this pleasure to happen. We were young, we were happy and we were going to have the time of our lives. Unfortunately, our livers didn't share the same enthusiasm.
We would finish picking our quota of oranges at around lunch time on Friday afternoons and then we were free to drink to our livers discontent, until 6.30 a.m on Sunday morning when our 6 day working week would start again. Saturday being the Sabbath day.
After lunch in the communal dining room. A veritable feast in the form of the buffet. It was off to the Kibbutz Schiller shop to purchase as much Gold Star beer as possible, as well as either arak (aniseed liquor) or Wodka (as we like to call it - an inferior brand of very high percentage Russian vodka). The shop was highly subsidised ensuring that we could get drunk for a surprisingly low amount of shekels. Which is just as well since we only earned $20 a month.
From the shop, it would be a short trek back to the volunteers end of the commune, to commence drinking on the large grassy patch that fronted our rooms. By 1pm on a Friday afternoon, a group of 40 or more volunteers would have congregated in this area and the drinking would begin.
According to Luke's account of how I ended up covered in strawberries and cream with a toothbrush penetrating my man hole, this Friday was no exception.
So let the story commence.
"You remember the arak though, right?", Luke asks me.
"Erm, I sort of remember buying some Gold Star", I reply.
"But you remember telling everybody that getting drunk is all in the mind, yeah?", he enquires.This is of course is all news to me. Come to think of it, I can't even remember filling my last crate with oranges on Friday lunchtime and it's now Sunday afternoon.
"Really?", I respond. Without the faintest semblance of recollection.
"Then what happened?", I ask. My curiosity aroused by my own drunken endeavours.
"Well", Luke continues, "then you went and got a chair, placed in the middle of the grass, stood on it and began to preach to the rest of the volunteers, how drinking was all in the mind and that you could control, any amount of alcohol consumption".
My oh my, I think to myself. Given that I get drunk off 1 pint of beer, this was a very brave statement, indeed.
"Then what happened?", I interrogate.
"You stood on your stool with a bottle of Wodka in your hand whilst shouting IT's ALL IN THE MIND, IT's ALL IN THE MIND", he replies.Before I have time to prompt him, Luke launches into my next monologue, which is basically drunken bullshit punctuated by a lot of IT's ALL IN THE MIND'S".
This is of course, much to the amusement of the ever gathering crowd, who have heard that an English retard is providing the afternoons entertainment. The retard in question, yours truly, falls off his stool with growing frequency without spilling a drop of his selected poison. Which in retrospect was probably his downfall.
The retard, then starts to get abusive to the crowd, who he probably detects are ridiculing him in his quest to prove that IT'S ALL IN THE MIND, and in a natural display of anger he removes all his clothes.
Against his better wishes and with much kicking and punching of random people, the retard is returned to the confines of his room. Periodically he makes a naked appearance over the next few hours until he eventually falls asleep. Much to the relief of the crowd, who have had their fun and are sick of getting randomly punched.
The patch of grass then returns to a more peaceful place of relaxation, where people read their books, sip their drinks and bask in the burning sun.
A short while later, one of the kibbutniks (permanent dwellers), approaches those on grass to enquire if they would like to challenge them to a football game. A deal is made and everybody moves themselves over to the large football pitch, not 100 yards from where I sleep. The game kicks off and goes without incident until one naked, retarded Englishman awakes from his stupor and wanders onto the football pitch, with a bottle of vodka in his hand.
The referee blows his whistle, whilst 22 players chase the streaker around the pitch and finally return him to his cell.He is to emerge a further 5 times, which does not go down too well with the men, women and children that are observing the game and who threaten him with expulsion from the kibbutz.
Finally, the streaker lies down in the centre circle and after repeatedly shouting IT'S ALL IN THE MIND, he falls asleep. He is once again removed by a posse of onlookers, only to awaken some 36 hours later with a toothbrush lodged in his sphincter and strawberries and cream all over his nether regions. Inserted and disseminated by his irate colleagues.
Somehow, I escape extradition from the Holy lands, and never have to worry about wanting to streak in the midst of a mid life crisis. I've done it already, it's crossed off the list.
I may not remember it, but it's ALL IN THE MIND.