Camp Life and the Bar Room Antics

I have been in the camp 6 days now and it is as bad as any open prison system, the worst aspect is that it has zero entertainment, like no TV in room, no phone in room and no internet at all in camp. so when you arrive home from the jobsite, you have nothing to look forward to other than the four depressing badly decorated walls to stare at, or you can go to the clubhouse and get drunk, i have been taking too much of the latter as the former would turn me into that mass murderer i am trying so hard to keep within myself. The clubhouse is pretty basic, it has a bar, one large chiller cabinet for the beer, one large freezer for ice and chilling the glasses to
-273 degrees Celcius, that is how cold it felt the other afternoon, one enormous back projection TV and a few bar stools and some armchairs for the old farts who come to watch TV, a bit like the recreation room in an old folks home actually, other than it smells badly of smoke. So when you enter upon the said establishment you are greeted by one group of Brits who are sat at the bar on the stools and they are typical contractors, and a good bunch of blokes too, but they are of the more aged variety, and unfortunately for them they look like clones and sound like it too, they are all about 55-60 years old, all with either bald heads or shaven heads and bald or just shaven heads, with uniformly round fat facial features, this is where the clone thing comes into play, they all have what has been described to me by an american as having, Gin Blossom, that typical bright red face from years of soaking the liver in an excess of alcohol and in this case it is actually Gin.
I have been adopted as trainee clone and gin drinker, it is nice to be accepted so easily and it is the usual thing that all miserable gin drinking contractors like to surround themselves with other miserable gin drinking contractors, it is a club within a club, we all talk the same crap, like my unit is bigger than yours and i have installed more units than you, i have been to more countries than you and i am more miserable than you, also i have been adding in that i am more desperate than you, but after alot of Gin we all can laugh at the lame jokes and laugh at completely unfunny jokes and even laugh at the most drunken guy there as they cannot talk at all other than uttering a few words that dont make sense. This is contractor paradise and is all you can get here, i have heard the money these guys are making is terrible and why they are here is hard to understand, probably because they cannot get another job and maybe because the Gin is cheap, either way a life of 13 weeks here in the miserable camp and two weeks at home is nothing short of self induced torture and a wantoness to be miserable. I do not intent to end my years like a fat bald red faced clone, even though they are all good guys it is a nightmare i willnot accept