He woke up the following day nursing a headache. It had been worth it though. A couple of paracetamols wiped out the thumping in his head.
It was his last Friday on the kibbutz and planned to make the best of it. He remembered he'd arranged to visit a friend, who lived on the outskirts of Nazareth, in the afternoon. Someone would come to pick him up at 2 o'clock - only a couple of hours away. A quick lunch, shower, music and a vodka put him in the mood for the rest of this long day.
It was closer to 2.30pm before he was on his way. At least it hadn't been raining. A filling second lunch at his friend's place lined his stomach for the bottle of brandy to come - but they (including his friend's cousin) had the wine to finish first. They ate a chocolate cream cake dessert, (with a slight hint of brandy?) and washed it down with the chilled wine.
During the afternoon they reminisced about old times in the bakery. His friend was away from work on sick leave due to a serious accident he'd had in the bakery - he'd trapped one of his fingers in a conveyor belt and the top half had been ripped off. (He'd never forget that day, as he'd been the one to find the missing piece, quickly rush off to fill a plastic bag up with ice and put the fingertip in it, in the hope it could be sewn back on. It couldn't. Conveyors gave him the shivers now.)

By the time he came to leave he had half a bottle of brandy sloshing around inside him, and it had definitely gone to his head. He hardly remembered the drive back to the kibbutz, arriving at the start of the evening meal, and was too full from the food he'd already eaten to bother with it. He sat with a couple of friends instead, and continued with the alcohol intake.

He stayed in the dining room until 2am, drinking, talking, smoking and drinking, with no idea of how many bottles of wine he and the four or five volunteers had gone through. It was a cacophony of voices with them talking about anything that came into their alcohol sodden minds. He remembered he'd promised to go to the pub, as it was his last Friday, but couldn't be bothered getting up from his chair and wasn't sure how far his legs would get him before collapsing, putting him on intimate terms with the floor. He was enjoying himself here and was having a lively argument with a German volunteer about what he thought of the stereotypical English volunteer.