Tab Tries: Living By The Die

Three guys stagger home in a rum-stained silence. One of them clings to a giant wooden dice (alright, a die), whose giant wooden corners are filthed with The Place’s floor sediment, and whose giant wooden dots spell six giant wooden possibilities with every giant wooden roll. Here’s what happened several hours earlier…

In a normal sized, plaster-lined room of a normal sized red-brick house, we first laid eyes on the giant wooden die. It drew our gaze from a lull in the otherwise incessant barrage of japes and chunder dragons, as if we had all simultaneously been chosen by the Goblet of Fire for a vomtastic quest.

We knew not what the mission entailed, but hoped for the usual cocktail of high-jinx, Disney songs and excrement.

The three of us crouched, frozen, waiting for the die to make the first move. Flirting with gravity, the yellow cube of destiny precariously overhung an unsuspecting IKEA shelf.

Acting as medium, the die’s words came into my head, and I whispered them prophetically. “One to two: go to bed. Three to Four: stay in the room. Five to Six: go to Sainsbury’s.”

One… two… three… four… (Will counts the dots).

Five! The die had spoken. Clutching the golden totem, Sainsbury’s was a short manic sprint away. Pedestrians, old ladies and do-gooders lined the streets, unaware that we were the chosen ones, man’s earthly prophets of chance. These indolent heretics were duly snow-ploughed either side of the cradled idol, as we hurriedly transported it to the alcohol aisle (where my desk is placed for efficiency).

One to two: gin and tonic. Three to four: rum and ginger beer. Five to six: vodka and cranberry. The die didn’t have any money on him, so we lent him twelve pounds, and couriered it home with the goods. Did we drink it? (roll.) No? Was it sure? (roll again) Ah, yes!

With the work of the die complete (i.e. quite a lot of Basics Rum had been consumed), we could see it was still not satisfied. Did it want us to get more? (roll.) No. Cigarette? (roll.) No. Go to Life? (roll.) Yes!

When we got to Life, we went straight to the Tropical Jungle Room to see if the die wanted a drink. It decided on alcopops. I concentrated on the flavour of the diminutive content of alcohol (which I love), and thanked the die for not making me strawpedo it.

Next, the die wanted to have some fun. One to two: chat up a man. Three to four: dance like Dionysus on acid. Five to six: grind on someone’s girlfriend ‘til they hit you. Mercifully, it was a three.
After some consternation amongst our gyrating neighbours, I tried to explain. The die moves in mysterious ways, I shouted cryptically. My message was lost in the sea of dead-eyed convulsion before me. The die wanted to go outside.

In the alley, the die came into its own. Someone climbed a building, some people got offended, and there were probably liberal lashings of nudity and/or profanity. The first two rows probably got absolutely soaked.

When we were about to have even more fun, the die changed its tune. One to two: go home. Three to four: back inside. Five to six: go to Fez. Sigh. I had just been about to do a yard I’d found. Well if we had to go, what to do on the way home? Sing Aladdin? Lay a poo on John’s? Enact a rape? (roll.) Walk home without talking.

Three guys stagger home in a rum-stained silence. One of them clings to a giant wooden die whose giant wooden corners are filthed with The Place’s floor sediment, and whose giant wooden dots promised six giant wooden possibilities with every giant wooden roll.

When you get to third year, sometimes it really is this hard to have fun.

——————————————————-

How to live by the die:

1. Find a die. Must be a magic one. Or at least comically over-sized.

2.  Always make sure you include in the options:

– Something you really don’t want to do

– Something you do

– Something semi-illegal

3. Add alcohol.
4. Reference figures from Classical mythology.
(Mathmos: if you get more than two consecutive terms of the Fibonnaci sequence, you have to dive naked into The Cam. It’s a rule. Sorry guys.)