John Prescott, bulimia and my weekend.

The blogger backlash from the likes of Doctor Crippen is, to be frank, getting on my fucking nerves.

Fine. John Prescott might've made this up to help shift more of his new book, god knows things more cynical than that happen on an every day basis, but what if he's not? If he's not, Doctor Crippen and his ilk are further pushing the idea that only young, skinny women suffer from eating disorders, which is a view that belongs in nowhere else other than the bin. I could dig up relevant statistics if I could be bothered, but I have read from several sources that more men and more older people are suffering from eating disorders like bulimia. Having a pop at John Prescott doesn't help awareness one bloody iota!

Anyway, onto the weekend. Well, back to the weekend, actually. I went out drinking, funding silly government proposals as I love to do. I was with quite a heavy-on-the-drink much of old mates of mine but wasn't getting too rat-arsed. One of them and I ended up in this place in my hometown, which is a 'bar' ran by a collective. I use 's as they don't really sell any ale, they just allow you to bring your own stuff and watch bands and stuff. Whatever they sell they do it at cost price and, generally, it's quite interesting. I spent the night crooning to a bunch of admiring girls who were certainly under the age of consent which was more than amusing.

It was here that I think my drink was spiked.

My memory is kinda hazy after said singing and accepting a drink from someone I barely knew. Before anyone shouts at me, I realise how idiotic this seems on paper, but real life is never so black and white. I kinda remember walking the 4 miles home in the rain and then going to the toilet. I brought up the best part of my entire Saturday menu. This was a repeated theme for the better part of Sunday, even when the product of my vomit projection was only water.

Now, I'm happy to admit to having a bit too much to drink. But this night, as tipsy as I was, I hadn't drank enough to be *that* sick. Couple that with the fact that I have memory gaps (I know, another possible side effect of alcohol) and the fact I accepted a random drink, I'm a bit spooked.

All's well that ends well, though, eh? Suffice to say, I have learned my lesson, even if no spiking was involved.