I might as well write this one in English, since there are no swedish letters on this keyboard.
And to set things straight, I'm quite intoxicated at the moment.
So, there I was, all of a sudden, with my two friends (both swedish) lying on the grass of some Brighton park I've never cared to remember the name of, standing over them like a warden.
"They be okay?" one gentleman/lady asks, one after another, whereas I'm automatically
responding "Ye-ye-ye, they'll be all right. Just gotta sober up, y'know. Cheers."
The evening started with us three swedes and an australaian gairl, who we'd had a beer with per random two nights ago, going to a pub named the Mezmerist. We met up with pretty much all of the other English students from Sweden and drank Pimms (an apparently typically English, quite strong and equally discusting cocktail) at this bar.
Next chapter of this story take splace on the beach of Brighton. It's me, two of my roomies, one other swede in the B-course and the Australian chick, skinnydipping after having shared a bottle of the cheapest rum availible. So after having dressed we stagger of to the kiosk where we bought the rum and buy Glen's (what else?) vodka.
Then the Australian and the B-course guy wander off together, and my room-mate of the male gender starts losing track of his pants. He doesn't really care if they're at his ankles of halfway up his torso.
That's when I realize this will only get worse.
So there I was, all of a sudden, standing over my wasted swedish friends (one of whom persists in talking in an unintelligible accent of Gentleman's Swenglish.), them laying down on the grass looking dead, and me trying to ward off any sort of help from sober and drunk people alike.
I'm quite unexperienced in these kinds of situations, but I knew they were cold and shaking, but refused to move, so I called the emergency number, 999, where I talked to two persons who answered and talked to me simultaneously, causing me to panic and hang up immediately.
But I managed to get them to the hostel, somehow, for the cost of a stolen bag.
Thing is, for a while, the guy slept on the grass, and the guy sat on a bench some metres away, so when I went from the grass, the bag was there, and when I got back, someone had stolen it.
But I guess we (I) were pretty lucky, concidering the circumstances.
Most people passing around us just assumed we were on the heaviest drugs there are.
I'm just glad that the hostel is open 24/7, and that we've been nice to the staff. Otherwise they might've not let us in, heh.
And now it's 05:14.
Over & out.