Okay kids, gather round as I tell you the magical night of January 2013. The camp fire is warm, marshmellows are next to a passed out Maxi and beers are in the cooler, so si'down, shudup and lis'en.
So my parents were away for the fortnight, leaving me and my 9 month younger brother to look after the house. It was snowing, quite heavily infact, the snow had reached somewhere around 6 inches and was expected to continue to full blown blizzard proportions.
This particular night I decided to pick up a crate so me and my bro could get pissed together but alas, the best laid plans of mice and men... the kid decided to go get stoned with his mates instead, leaving me at home with enough booze for 3 guys. Being the clever, sophisticated, ladies man I am, I decided to have a drink by myself. This was mistake number 1, mistake number 2 occured only ten minutes later when I realised that I had already drank 7 of the beers and was well on my way into the eighth.
Anyway a few beers later I begin to hear noises from upstairs, the sound of footsteps, I check it out but can locate nothing, I go back downstairs and the noise continues, freaking me out somewhat, I try to ring my brother only to discover I have no signal. I leave the house I walk down the street, still no signal. My phone just will not recieve any reception. So I go back in, finish the drinks (yes all of them) and grab my jacket all whilst texting my brother to tell him how I'm freaking out.
Anyway it's late night and I'm pissed so it occurs to me the best place to go is my local. five (according to the cash in my wallet) pints of Guinness later and my brother rings me worried, he asks me to meet him to walk home with him. This is where things get hazy but I'll tell you what I remember. I start to stumble towards the place we are meeting, falling several times along the way. At some point I forget where I'm going and start walking home instead. Some 10-20 minutes later my brother rings me to find out where I am. My response goes something like this "I'ma walk home, because that's where I'm-" at this point I hit the floor, face first, I manage to get back to my phone and mumble an apology, I tell him I'll be home soon.
At this point I'm five minutes away from my home, I fall again into the snow, my thought process goes something like this 'Snow is warm, maybe I'll just stay here' anyway it's an hour before I eventually make the five minute walk home. I pass out, waking up the next morning to discover I've damaged every bone in my arms and some in my legs. Fortunately without a hangover, but that's what happens when you sleep till 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
And that is but the most recent of the many 'Campfire Tales of Rosie'.