Tag Archives: drunk

Dog or Hydrant? (feat. SP fails again)

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I don’t remember where I heard that phrase, but it is true don’t you think….sometimes you are the dog, other times you are the hydrant.

I was making myself the hydrant until recently and that has all changed now – So all of the passworded posts have gone and I am on the hunt for material….which will put anyone that knows me on alert….Especially SP.

I have to tell you about his most recent spectacular fail.

We were out at the weekend, when a Hen party turned up at the bar…fairly early in the night.  Now, there is a tradition out here, that Hen Parties (and some Stag parties) get the bride to be dressed up in some bizarre clothing and normally a T-Shirt with embarassing photos or slogans on them.  It is also traditional that the bride to be (with the assistance of the hundreds of other women with them) sells various bits and bobs to fund the evenings festivities.

Things they sell range from sweets through condoms, shots and even kisses.  Now most groups of this type, storm up…spend 5-10 minutes trying to persuade your group to part with cash for various things and when they either get your cash, or realise it ain’t happening, they disappear into the night.

This particular group were fairly unique, insofar as they seemed to genuinely be having a good time and decided to stick around for a laugh, well after they realised we weren’t giving them any cash.  Invariably, most of them were swarming around SP like ants on a picnic table, so G and I leaned back and watched the action unfold.  A pathetic attempt to get SP to remove his shirt by spilling a drink on him later and one of the party starts whispering to SP and then disappears.  5 minutes later, she is back and glaring at SP from the other side of the bar.  Eventually they all leave, run back in a minute later to ask if we are staying all night and then run off again.

It turns out that this particular lovely lady was inviting SP to meet her in the toilets (not the most romantic place, but still)….he didn’t show and she got annoyed.

Later, they came back and he didn’t even notice….

SP – FAIL – Spectacular Fail some might say (yes, the capitalisation is required).

I think the funniest thing for me is, by the end of the night, SP was saying things like “There has to be some women in here somewhere”…. I don’t know if he realises what a comic genius he is sometimes.

Also, a Stag party went past on this…

www.bierbike.de

Genius, it’s a fully functioning bar that everyone sat at pedals and moves along – I want one Smile

Social Networking?

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I don’t know why I haven’t written about this before, especially as it was such a big part of my life for a long time. Now, I have to warn you, some of this post will be deeply geeky. So to that end (and for our American friends):

Those of you with a “jock” disposition, should probably close down your browser……hang on, they wouldn’t be reading anyway, surely. *meh*

I used to run LAN parties many moons ago. I like to think that the emphasis was on party and that the LAN side of it was a means to an end. In fact, we probably had less stereo-typed geeks than most other LANs could lay claim to. For those of you that don’t know, a LAN party is essentially a get-together of people that like playing computer games against each other, people bring their computers to a central venue and spend a weekend shooting people. The main game at my LANs seemed to be centered around drinking as much as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, not many business want to give over a large venue with enough power for say 70 computers, so I moved around a number of different venues. One of which had an ornamental pond outside and was a no smoking building. The pond was on 3 levels like a set of steps, starting at the top with a huge pond, then one level lower that had a slightly smaller pond, ending at the bottom with a small pond. One guy gave us a moment of drunken comedic genius by falling into the top pond, where he panicked and scrambled out of it….. into the next pond down, where he panicked and scrambled out of it….. into the next pond down, where he panicked and scrambled out of it onto the grass. A lot of people took a very long time to recover from that. I managed to pull myself together for long enough to stop him heading into the room with all of the very expensive computers….

At the same LAN, a guy got so drunk that he started stripping down to his boxer shorts and mumbling incoherently. When he finally passed out, we very kindly….stacked beer cans and alcohol bottles around his inert form and balanced them on his head. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

At some point we decided to run a LAN in Blackpool which, up until this blog post, was known as the LAN that shall never be named. The main reason for this was that I was completely stitched up by the hotel owner. I visited him and was given assurances that he could meet the power requirements of some 60-70 computers and all associated paraphenalia. He also told me that, as it was out of season, we would have the entire hotel available. When I arrived, he was checking in a stag do, which meant I couldn’t have the entire downstairs…there weren’t enough tables and chairs so friends from the area had to scrounge them from other hotels, there was no parking that he said we could have and then to top it all off…..no power. He expected us to run everything from 2 or 3 plug sockets. In the end we had to string power extentions into the hotel next door. The stag do were a bunch of arseholes and none of the guys were happy leaving their equipment out. I basically spent the whole LAN trying to calm people down and not have to give them all their money back.

In the end we overcame the shite and had a great time. There was Evs destroying everyone in the UT competition. He was so good that I stopped monitoring the match to sit and watch this guy play. Couple that with the fact that he was just having a laugh and getting pissed, just made it all the more impressive. We also had operation car breakout. A military style operation where Preachys motor was extricated from its clamp hell with an angle grinder and about 20 fairly sizeable guys telling the clampers to fuck off.

After Blackpool, we headed back to our previous venue – Also known as the “Sex” LAN, which basically seemed to revolve around me fighting with the “caretaker” of the building when his power tripped and he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, and people being randomly “sexed”. For those of you not in the know, sexing involves taking a photograph of a sleeping member of the LAN, whilst having a photo of you gyrating your hips above their head. It was quite the sport across that one. This was also the LAN where Exo chose to drink almost every left over beer and glass of..whatever the hell was left. When we got him back to mine, he thought that Sarah was his missus and tried to get her in bed with him…fell over and cracked his head on a shelf. We checked he was ok, but he didn’t wake up for quite some time….mad Irish Goat pr0n loving bastard. This was the first LAN where we had a rare breed…the female gamer. Finally Lee decided to try his hand at topless modelling….oh and eyballing various alcoholic beverages. It was quite an eventful weekend that’s for sure.

Yes, that does look like we got Pierre Luigi Collina pissed and posing.  In fact, when we went to Anfield a load of lads took their photo with Lee as he could pass for PLC Grin

I also started running private LAN parties.  This started with the guys and gals from Loony Asylum.  If we thought that the WolfLAN mob were drunken party machines, these boys were pros.  If I were to post all of their exploits in party form it would take all month to read this post instead of just all day.  Let me bulletpoint some of my fave memories:

  1. Actually naming Man Love Central
  2. Shooting airsoft weaponry at each other…in the room
  3. Someone getting rammed on Jack Daniels and throwing up after losing control…but maintaining enough control to find a plastic bag
  4. Bringing an entire professional Karaoke setup
  5. Porn displayed on 30 PCs and also 15 feet high on the projector
  6. An asian lad being more offended at being called Jackie Chan by some dickhead.  Asking to at least be called Chow Yun Fat
  7. A few local lads kicking off in the venue thinking that Loony were a bunch of computer geeks.  The same lads being very surprised when 40 fairly un-geeky guys wandered downstairs in some sort of “The Warriors” stand-off
  8. Sharing so much porn across the network that it couldn’t actually handle it
  9. Conning a barman to leave the bar unattended for slightly too long…

There were many many more things, but my absolute fave has to be a lad called Geordie.

Now let me just explain, we had a venue above a pub in Edwinstowe.  It was run by Andy and Andy, a gay couple and a superb laugh.  You know how cats will always jump on the lap of the only person in a room that is allergic?  Well, Little Andy had much the same knack, only his particular talent was finding people that were slightly uncomfortable with homosexuality.  Well, Geordie fell into this category.  He wasn’t homophobic or anything like that, he was just a little uncomfortable.  So the drinks are flowing, the bar has been closed and has turned into a lock-in for the Loonys.  Little Andy decides to have some fun at Geordies expense, by flirting with him…you know, stroking his head, leaning a little too close when he was talking…all the classics.

Geordie, for his part, took it all in reasonable spirits.  That said, it was fair to say that he was drinking slightly faster than perhaps he would have normally done.  This ended up with him being comatosed in the bar.  The lads took it upon themselves to make him pay for this lapse of judgement and write on him, spray shaving foam etc etc.  One lad went a little far though, and got some Veet hair remover and sprayed it on his head.  Anyway, Little Andy finds him and decides to wake him up and help the poor guy.  So he took him to his shower, stripped him and showered him.   Being the kind and generous soul he is, he recorded the event for posterity.

I don’t think I have ever seen a man so completely broken as Geordie was the next day.

You know what, I think I may have to post more about WolfLAN at a later time….

Great times..

Nuts?

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kingore kapow

So there is a school of thought that American guys are nuts….and possibly a little gullible. Now, I can only speak from experience and conclude that they are generally no more so than any other guys.

That said, there is a particular group that have been known to frequent my living room from time to time….that have been coming here for some time.

Let me explain a couple of things first. There is a gentleman who is a regular, he is an Irishman and we shall call him M.

Now M is a very nice guy, who has a reputation that generally precedes him. He is generally considered to be the type of person that you don’t fuck around with. It doesn’t detract from him being a good guy, but for the love of all things holy, do not get on his bad side. I can safely say that I am fortunate to be on his good side (at least until he reads this).

Now, he has a particular issue with the word “Awesome”, especially when used by American guys. This issue led to a statement of intent being issued. The statement was something along the lines of:

“If any of you Americans say awesome again…I will kick you in the nuts”.

Now M is a man of his word and suffice to say that the Americans he was with at the time learned this the hard way.

Fast forward to a week ago, one of the original group of American guys is heading back stateside and is out on his last night in Frankfurt. He is trying his damndest to get as many Americans as possible to tell M what an awesome time they are having in Frankfurt. Leading to a high number of guys folded up in agony, strewn around the area.

Now myself and M were chatting, when this guy comes up and gets in on the conversation. He was explaining the “game” as he called it. During the explanation he says “So I keep telling these guys to go up to M and say Awes…..omething like that Eek! ”

Now M decides that half saying something still meets the criteria and informs the guy that as he only half said it, he will only kick him in the left nut. Before the guy can move – whack- M kicks out. I distinctly remember the guy squeaking “that was the left one too” before hitting the floor.

Eventually he recovers and tells me the story of playing the “game” the week before. Apparently he persuaded some huge monster of a biker from Colorado to say the “A word”. So off the guy trots, with his equally big friend, and goes up to M…a guy he has never met, nor been introduced to before. He delivers the now immortal words “Hey man, I just wanna say what an awesome time we are having here”

*whack*

The guy keels over…”What the fuck was that for man?”. “You said the word” says M. “What word? Awesome?”

*whack*

And so it continued. The story goes that the guy said it a total of 5 times, getting whacked progressively harder each time. Eventually, a little nonplussed and certainly none too happy. Biker dude and his friend decide that enough is enough and start claiming how they will kick the crap out of M. M, being M, grabs hold of the guy and gets out his wallet.

“I will pay you 300 euros right now, so that we can go over there and I can thump you and yer mate”

It is at this point that the 2 guys realise that a single M has them outnumbered. I mean, lets face it, if you are a big guy (he was) and you have an equally big friend stood next to you (he did)…what are the odds that a single Irishman will threaten you, and offer to pay for your trouble…if that person couldn’t back it up?

It is fair to say that these guys beat a hasty retreat and have never returned, to the best of my knowledge. It’s a shame – they are definitely the sort of guys that you want around….the money making opportunities are enormous.

Now…if I can just find some more Americans and my steel toecapped boots………

I don't have an alcohol problem

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John White. Web site http://www.whitebeertravels.

I drink…I get drunk…I fall down…no problem!

A few years ago, I was working in Cardiff and had a South African colleague called Thys. Great guy and a great laugh. As he was South African he was able to get Sambuca Gold and Aftershock that… didn’t conform to european standards shall we say. They were somewhat stronger than their British counterparts, and the Aftershock had the added bonus of crystalising when the lid was off, which increased the strength of the stuff.

So it was with much merriment that a friend and I decided to consume a bottle of Sambuca Gold and a bottle of Aftershock Red before going out. I don’t know why we did it, we were perfectly sober when we started drinking…it can’t have taken much to get us to the “good idea at the time” stage.

All I know with any certainty is that a few people turned up at the house, more drinking was done and the decision made to go to the pub. Upon arriving at the pub, I ordered a round for everyone. The barmaid asked me for the money, so reached into my back pocket to get my wallet. It was only when I tried to open the wallet to extract cash that I (along with everyone else) noticed I was trying to pay with my stereo remote control.. Unfortunately this is not a currency widely adopted in the UK and I was forced to perform a veritable stagger back to the house to collect my wallet.

It was also around this time that a friend and I decided that a “Leo”* was called for. We spent the bulk of it drinking lager at the Snooty Fox. At some point we decided to move onto Harvey Wallbangers, which we decided to use as chasers to the beer. Then, my friend decided that he would also quite like to do Tequila shots, which we chose to be the chaser of the chaser. Unfortunately, I hate the taste of Tequila, so I needed either beer or more Harvey Wallbanger to wash it down with. So the order was changed. Tequila shot, followed by Harvey Wallbanger, followed by a lager chaser.

It was with no small measure of shock that we were plastered by around 5pm. I remember Sarah driving past us both, me leaning on the wall and waving and my friend attempting to do the same. Unfortunately the wave took him a little more off-balance than me, and he slid down the wall and onto the floor….where he stayed for a little while.

My fave story though from around this time is that of a house party that a few friends and I were invited to. Having nothing better to do, and probably not really thinking, we arrived at the party precisely at the invited start time. Now this is normally a mistake in party attendance terms, as being the first people there tends to make the initial part quite dull. Still, in an effort to gee it up, I started handing round a bottle of Smirnoff Black Vodka that I had taken as my bottle of choice in the “bring a bottle” stakes.

What I failed to notice was that, as I passed the bottle to the next person, the bottle was simply passed around, without anyone drinking any…until it came back to me. Essentially, this meant that consumed a 1 litre bottle of this stuff in a little under 40 minutes. I was “reasonably well oiled” by the time the party really started going strong. A friend arrived with a bottle of some Vodka that a Russian visitor had given to him and the same pass the bottle strategy ensued…although at least this time there was one other person actually drinking the stuff.

Suffice to say that in less than 2 hours, having consumed 1.5 liters of Vodka straight from the bottle, I was a little worse for wear. I decided to go outside for some fresh air and, in a vain attempt, to clear my head. I ended up kneeling down on the driveway where I could hear the plans being concieved to go outside and strip me…just for fun you understand.

My overriding issue at this point was not, as some might imagine, being stripped naked for a laugh. No no no, my only issue was that if they wanted to strip me, that would involve moving me…something I definately did not want to happen.

Most of the rest of the night is a blur, although I definitely remember being put into a taxi, complete with head hanging out of the window like a pet dog….taken to my mates house and placed in the toilet with my head positioned over the bowl. Just at the point I was starting to fall asleep there, Simon decided to pour a bucket of ice water over my head.

After the initial shock, the effect was instant sobriety and we headed back to the party.

Genius

*Leo = Leo Sayer = All dayer = All day at the pub

SP…the true spirit of Christmas

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No…I will not call it Xmas just to satisfy the PC brigade…

Anyhoo, this is a story about the inimitable SP from many moons ago, it was the 2006 works Christmas party, and, not knowing any better we all tagged along.

Free food, free beer and something resembling free entertainment (Genius really, 90% English speaking contingent….entertainment all in German). On a boat, travelling up and down the Main. We were trapped and forced to consume all that was put before us….and some that was put next to us, behind us and occasionally hidden behind the bar.

The beer had been flowing rather well and a good time was being had by all. When I decided, as a joke, to mix my full glass of red wine into my half pint of lager. One taste revealed just how bad of an idea it was, but still – it was worth a try. The old saying is true, you really shouldn’t mix the grain and the grape.

Further along the table, a somewhat inebriated SP was entrenched in conversation with people and had turned away from his pint. As the evening wore on, he didn’t spot that his beer never seemed to require being replaced, he had obviously found that holiest of holy grails…..a never ending beer glass.

Not noticing the perpetually full nature of his glass was actually the least of his troubles, every time he drank some of his beer PH would top the level back up with white wine. This went on for a looong time, so long that I think he must have drank at least 3 pints of nothing but wine. Every time someone asked what he thought of the beer, they were met with the response that it was pretty good.

This was also the night where we met the lunatic edge that is KT on the dancefloor. More energy than the Energiser Bunny and less control than an incontinent alzheimers patient with a leaking bag and broken zimmer frame. Still, it was fun watching him practically pogo and mosh his way to various strains of Take That and New Kids On The Block, dancing around various corporate types.

Christmas parties are definitely the place to learn about the people you work with…that much is certain.

Is this yours?

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I am starting to detect a theme here, a lot of the stories I want to tell seem to revolve around alcohol.  Now I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t generally drink that often and neither do my family.  It’s just that, drunk stories seem to be funnier….at least to me.

Picture the scene.  Family friend and long time Sunderland Football Club supporter Alan has his 50th birthday.  My parents decide to throw a shindig for him at the football club bar.  Many people arrived, many a drink was drunk (all at RAF prices) and a jolly good time was had by all.

Presents that were given included a signed, framed picture of Newcastle United Football Club and a polyester lounge suit that Alan was forced to wear and be pictured with.

Now, when you are young, keeping up with the men is a favourite past time at parties.  When you are old enough to have reasonable drinking experience, you tend to think you have the same capacity as these men….this is a dangerous notion and one that should be stopped immediately.  I was fortunate enough to be a little older and wiser, therefore calling it a night relatively early.

I tried in vain to persuade my brother Kev that the best idea would be to come with me, but by then he had that drunken aura of invincibility that around 10 pints of beer brings you.  I left, he stayed.  Oh dear.

I went back to my parents place and was watching DVDs (Bill Hicks if I recall).  At around 4am the doorbell goes and I wander to the door, ready to hurle abuse at whichever lunatic had forgotten how a house key worked.  Opening the door, I was face to face with a stranger.  This stranger had a large (and slightly angry it seemed) dog.  I breathe in and puff my chest out in the classic pose of bigger is stronger that the animal kingdom tend to employ, when he utters the immortal words :

“Is this yours?”

He turns towards the front lawn and nods.  I recognise immediately that it is Kev….face down and starfished on the grass.   I run over to see if he is ok, while bloke with angry dog wanders off chuckling to himself.

Essentially Kev has been beaten, beaten badly in a drinking competition by the “olds”.  Made worse by the fact that they are still there, still drinking and having a good time.  He was a broken man.

It’s a level of shame that I am not sure he ever recovered from, all I know with any certainty….he never took up that challenge again.

For completeness…I am not a total bastard.  After waking him up and taking the piss for a while, I ended up staying awake all night to make sure he didn’t swallow his tongue or anything stupid.

Next time….it’s his turn to babysit

Stay tuned for more alcohol induced frivolity…

I don't have enough blood in my alcohol stream

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So this weekend has been about beer.  The temperature in Frankfurt rocketed to over 30 degrees Celcius, which essentially turned me into a walking fountain, something akin to the Lynx advert :

So, in an effort to help, I took to consuming vast quantities of alcohol.  Starting on Friday night at a bar called Waxys in Frankfurt.  It was TCs leaving do and I really have no idea how much I drank.  It must have been bad though, I drank Jagermeister.  Oh dear god I drank Jagermeister.  For those of you not familiar with this evil beverage, take some Benolyn cough medicine and add pure alcohol and you have something along the lines of this stuff.

Other shots were consumed, along with far too many half litres of beer (thankyou Germany for generous measures).  We arrived and immediately spotted a likely table in the middle of the place.  Turns out it was a good location as seen by the picture below:

Friendly AND talented...

Suffice to say, we were happy with our location Oops!

We lasted at Waxys until around 02:00 and then headed to The Anglo Irish (forever now known as my living room), where we bumped into a certain PM.  PM was showing the world his “babys arm” with the timeless classic “What do you think of my new shoes” line…….

I headed back to the apartment at around 04:30, fortunately a very short stagger up the stairs.  I dread to think what the beer count was, all I know is that I ended up with my first hangover in years.  I woke up on Saturday morning around 9am, took my usual feel better quick remedy (2 ibuprofen, 2 paracetemol and a pint of water).  This usually sorts me out after 20 minutes.  So it was quite the surprise when, at 09:25 I was feeling worse and crawled back into my pit.  About 12 I woke up again and was able to function a little bit.  So I headed over to see SP.

I am just glad it wasn’t just me feeling rough.  So we cured that by heading back to my living room for a few beers.  SP went with PM to the Fressgasse and I came home to chill out.  Around 10pm last night, SP calls to let me know he is almost back in my living room.  I would like to say that there was a lot of persuasion required and that I really struggled with it, but alas, I was in the bar 5 minutes later.

About 03:30 this morning I rocked back to the apartment.

It’s pretty cool really, in Germany nowhere really starts swinging until after 10pm, in the UK at 10pm you have 45 minutes until last orders…unless you go to a nightclub.  Even then, they kick out at 2am.  At 2am here we are just getting started properly Grin

I bottled it the afternoon though – Headed downstairs and ended up drinking coffee Oops!

As I type, I am getting ready to help my son with his homework over webcam, then I will be in the bar again…dagnabit

Anyway, this post was supposed to be a faretheewell to our intrepid reporter TC.  He has left us for greener pastures, although he is still only down the road, so I expect he will still be able to produce some compelling reports on the behaviour of SP from time to time.  I had also hoped that this would be another SP post, all I can really say is that he had a recovery on a plate…….and blew it.  Maybe I will do the full story of that next time.

So TC…all the best, and don’t be a stranger – You have deadlines to meet Grin

Oh…genius T-Shirt of the week “Yes I have plenty of change you homeless piece of shit…thanks for asking”

Fingers crossed for a remotely amusing post shortly

SP..The man, the myth, the…human being?!?

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This is an unusual post as it isn’t about me. It is about a close friend. He will hereafter simply be referred to as SP. To those that know him, it will be abundantly clear who SP is, to those that don’t the moniker will retain some small measure of mystique.

Now SP has a reputation with the ladies. It’s a decent reputation (if you are male) and it seems to be something of a challenge to the female of the species. I am fairly certain there will be more posts about the inimatable SP, but this first excursion into SP territory is about the human side of him.

It’s a story of intrigue, romance, mature ladies and possibly a little vomit – How the man, the legend became mortal once more. He is not a machine – he is just a man….

…quite a strange man as it turns out.

For me, it all begins on a recent Friday morning with a message via Googlemail Chat:

SP: Jesus Christ, you will never guess what I just woke up next to
Me: Not again, go on, how hot?
SP: No, you don’t understand….oh my god, just thinking about it made me throw up a little bit in my mouth
SP: Not good… I just had to pretend I was going to work, I got the suit on and everything just to get her to leave
Me: What? No way…how pissed were you?
SP: Fairly pissed….she only had 2 teeth mate..and she was at least 45

The conversation continued in this vein (as only blokes can do) for some time.

Later that night as we are all out having a few bevvies in the wonderful pub that I can now call my living room Wink the topic moves onto the subject of the previous night.

The beauty about this is that there are actual witnesses to the event. Not only that, based on description, Z recognises who the person is and proceeds to explain a number of previously missing details.

Age: Approximated at 45 by SP, actually 55+ confirmed by Z
Nationality: Guessed at Russian by SP, actually confirmed by Z as Dutch
Occupation: Guessed as retired by SP, confirmed by Z
Former occupation: Unknown by SP, confirmed by Z as prostitute
Spouse: Assumed to be none by SP. Confirmed by both AC and DS as present, chatty and none too happy when SP left with her

You can imagine the torment SP has been suffering since this happened. However, it gets worse (or better depending on your perspective).

So, SP decides to redeem himself. The other night he seems to be having some success, culminating in both SP and Z going back to the apartment of a couple of lovely ladies. Z goes into bedroom A with lady A and SP into B with B. So far so good.

At this point it started going wrong. SP decided to take a seat on a chair behind the door, where alcohol consumption, coupled with a rapid change in atmospherics (he was outside before Razz ), resulted in what can only be described as instant inebriation. Lady B rapidly exited the bedroom. SP believed that she would return shortly. However, somewhere between 15 and 20 minutes elapsed before Z appeared. Apparently lady B was a little unnerved by the erratic behaviour of SP and the 2 ladies thought it best if the guys made a retreat.

SP was at this point ejected from the scene.

2 strikes in rapid succession…it isn’t looking good for the hall of fame shoein.

To complete the fall from grace of our resident ladies man, SP was the target of a very hot air stewardess (as described by witnesses) and failed to spot a single subtle sign. Let me provide to you these subtle signs and see if you can pickup on them. I have to warn you, those of you not skilled in the art of the ladies may find this one difficult…..so I hope you are paying careful attention. I will give you the question posed by our lady of the sky, followed by the SP response and any comebacks. This information comes from our intrepid reporter TC and has been independently authenticated by our team of expensive lawyers:

We pick up the action mid-way through the conversation:

Hot Air Stewardess: Are you single?
SP: Yep
H.A.S: Good, I really don’t want to get slapped by a jealous girlfriend
SP: No danger of that happening

H.A.S: Do you live close to here?
SP: Not too far, about 10 minutes away, what about you.
H.A.S: I stay here around 5 days a week

H.A.S: Do you have a mobile phone?
SP: Yep
H.A.S: …
SP: I gotta go

Unfortunately, our intrepid TC was unable to get further comment due to the inexplicable actions of SP.

Now I ask you internets, are these the actions of a man with an almost flawless record over the past 2 years? I thought not. I am left distraught and in a quandry…being the somewhat overweight and unlikely to pull type myself, I have recently been living vicariously through this man.

What do I do now? Clearly he is suffering a major meltdown. But is he finished? Will he be able to recover from this or will he end up in the pick-up artists equivelant of non-league football?

More news as we get it….

F\/ck Night at the Hop Pole

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Speaking of the Hop Pole massive* (as I was in a recent post). I mentioned that we would all go to the club around midnight, the reason for this was that almost all of our group worked at the Hop Pole Hotel in some capacity.

The Hop Pole used to be run by Marcs mum and dad, so the possibility of “waiting for the taxi**” after they all finished work was always there. Generally, Marc and Darren (being Chefs) would finish before the rest of the group and go and get changed. The taxi would be called and inevitably Marc would bring his guitar down to the bar.

This was referred to as “Fuck Night”, as in “Oh fuck, Marcs got the guitar again”. I have to say though, I miss those nights. Marc is a kick-ass guitarist and we would wait for the taxi by singing Beatles, Oasis and loads of others. As people finished work, more would join in the singing. We would always end with Twist and Shout, a real throat killer just before the taxi arrives.

It was somewhere during these nights that I recieved the title of “Bloke who will drink anything”, something that has served me well… or not. I have never really been a beer drinker (sorry Germany), but I do love me some spirits. Apfelkorn is my personal fave, and I was able to pick some up from the NAAFI on the RAF base my dad was working on, so I would buy a bottle of Pils, drink it and then head out to the boot of my car and refill the bottle with Apfelkorn. It was an interesting concept and probably lead to the idea that I couldn’t hold my beer.Herbert und der Apfelkorn

I remember one particular night, I had been sneaking Apfelkorn in a Pils bottle all night and finished a full bottle of it. During the “lock-in and wait for the taxi” part of the night, I brought out some Feuerwasse, which I can only really liken to Vodka. I had just poured myself a small half-pint measure when someone yelled that the taxi was there… Rather than put the drink down, I decided that the best course of action was to neck the entire half-pint. Needless to say, the remainder of the evening was something of a blurr to me.

I do vividly remember needing to go to the loo after we had been in the club a while, but not able to start the walk over to it.  So I rocked back onto the bar and pushed myself off in the general direction.  Once I got a little momentum going, it wasn’t a problem…except for those people on the dancefloor I went through.

Speaking of the club,  we had many an entertaining night at our club of choice.  My two faves have to be Marc and Anne standing at the bar, talking perfectly normally, with their respective trousers and skirt around their ankles.  The 2nd was when me, Marc and Darren decided to embarrass Maria who made the mistake of standing in the corner.  All 3 of us dropped to our knees and started in on a (particularly good) rendition of “You’ve lost that loving feeling”.  This gave us an audience, who made the mistake of surrounding us in a circle.  The bouncers saw the circle of people and assumed that there was a fight going on and waded in to break it up…only to see a red-faced Maria and us 3 idiots singing to her..good times Smile

* ooh get me…from the street and all that…innit!

** Read: Lock-in Rolls Eyes

So…honesty is the best policy eh?

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Lifetime LadderAhem – So it transpires that I may have occasionally slipped from the moral high ground when it comes to honesty….as was pointed out to me recently.

We were invited to Sam and Micks wedding in sunny Sunderland at an amazing hotel. The only problem was that the hotel was bloody massive. So massive, that when we went to the bar for the evening party…and I left the room card behind…they weren’t going to allow me to purchase alcohol unless I traipsed the 10 minutes (no lie) back to the room.

After much persuading (read: begging), the head barman agreed to run a manual tab, I would have to show the room key each time to prove who I was etc.

No problem says I. It’s not like I could lose the bloody room key, the thing was huge. So began a marathon session. Too many shots were consumed. At one point we were lining them up based on their colour and nothing else. Seems a little strange when I think back to it.. “Hi barman, what have you got that’s purple?”(cue Sid James laughter).room key

I recall dancing, badly. Seriously, I don’t think I would swing if you hung me. There may or may not have been an inappropriate approach to the Bride….groom. That Mick is a damnably attractive man, even to a raving hetero like me Wink

The night ended late, as these things tend to do, and we staggered back the 25 minute trek to the room.

I would like to lay the blame squarely at the door of the alcohol and lack of sleep at this point. I don’t believe I can be held accountable for my actions as a result.

After staggering down to breakfast the next morning, we headed off to check out and pay the bill (£175 + the bar bill). I handed in my key and prepared for the small explosion somewhere on the edge of hearing…the sound of my bank managers head going supernova. Then something amazing happened, the woman behind the counter showed me my bill and asked if that looked OK. The bill showed £175 only…no bar bill. Genius.

As she hadn’t asked if it was correct, only if it was ok, I took a quick pause before replying that it was indeed OK. I think I even said that it was better than I expected…. bad Dave, bad.

We had previously planned to head back to everyone for a bite to eat after checking out, but this became the worlds quickest goodbye and a sprint to the car before anyone noticed. I did take Mick to one side to make sure that he let me know if they stitched him up with the bill. They never did.

I felt bad about the barman, but as none of my drinks went through the cashdesk, I figured it would be written off under losses, and if the lad had any sense, he would have thrown the notepad in the bin.

Cheapest. Night. Ever

I recommend Sunderland for your wedding, oh…don’t forget to invite me Grin