Found the post, woo-hoo! :)


What an amazingly packed weekend that was!

A shockingly early start on Saturday (well, 9am on a weekend is the crack of dawn for me) was wiped out by a jack-knifed lorry on the M4 - which meant I missed the pre-game pint (of Diet Coke) with the boys from the internet* that had sorted me out a ticket for the Spurs v Bolton match.

We missed the first five minutes due to turnstile spackness but managed to see a game that we should've won 10-0 but ended up drawing 1-1. That's four 1-1 draws on the trot. Pile'o'wank.

We have, however, bought one of Europe's finest prospects for an eye-watering £16m. I'm excited about next season now :)

After the match I met up with my Dad (who was also at the match) and introduced him to the (by now) drunken posse. I'm not sure that was an entirely good idea, but thankfully he left before the inevitable 'who can down the most pints in one without throwing up' contest ended with - shock! horror! - someone technicolour yawning all over the pub floor. Classy. :-S

One guy Tom had brought his brother to the match, having brought his girlfriend to the previous match. I'd got on well with Mrs. Tom (and we're all going for a drink in Oxford next weekend) and his brother was winding up the resident alcoholic-with-small-man-syndrome, so I felt justified in exclaiming to the world at large "Hey Tom, your girlfriend went down better than your brother!"

Um, let me re-phrase that......



Moving swiftly on, like a tramp in the alcohol-free wine section, I was back in Bristol and in a pub in town by ten pee-emm for an old university friend's birthday party.

I felt very old after catching up with some people I hadn't seen in 12 years. A few of the friends I actually keep in contact with were there so it was a good evening all in all. One fellow, whom we shall call B in all his sallow, unshaven glory, looked like either a) a heroin addict or b) an extra for Lost: Season 43. It turned out he was just addicted to WoW and rarely saw the sun. Scaaaaaaarrrrrr-rrrreeeeeeeeeeee.........

Despite everyone being drunk I was enjoying myself - and then we moved to some hideous 'Aussie' pub in the town centre playing the cheesiest tunes ever.

And then several things happened in a matter of minutes.

Several things that are currently in the fore-front of my memory.

Firstly, I'd switched to drinking Blackcurrant squash (I have a limit to the amount of Diet Coke I can drink) - or 'cordial' as it appears to be known nowadays. Having forced our way to the bar past seven or eight hen nights (yes, that sort of pub) we ordered a blackcurrant cordial alongside several beers.

I received one.

In a shot glass.

What. The. Fuck.

The questions "Can I have that with some water? In a pint glass? With some ice?" were met with a series of baffled stares (and the barmaid wasn't even Polish).

Clearly I'm not down with the kids enough to down my cordials neat. :(


Secondly, a good (and very drunk) friend decided to choose that bar to confide in me that he'd had twelve prostitutes in twelve nights while on a trip to Cuba. Hellll-ooo!?! Sober person here - you won't remember that but I will. I so didn't need to know that.

'Hi, is that Memory Wipes-R-Us? Could I book at booth for 8pm please? Oh, I don't know, the last week or so will do....'


Thirdly, three girls in the bar decided that I (for no reason that I could ascertain, but frankly I didn't care) should judge who did the sexiest dance. This involved lots of jiggling of little shorts in my face as they bent over.

Jiggling.

Little Shorts.

For about an hour.

This is them:

Look at the little shorts! THE SHORTS! LOOK AT THEM! SHORTS!

I voted the one in the blue top. She looked like she could crack walnuts with a deft clench of her buttocks. They were all really nice and very funny - their boyfriends were lucky guys. Bastards :)

Sadly, not long after that everyone reacted to 'I'm a Barbie Girl' coming on with a non-ironic cheer. I said my goodbyes and left just before 1am.



And so to Sunday.

I'm struggling to think of what I'll get away with writing here, seeing as some of my guests for the day were token and Mr.C - both of whom read this.....

So let's see, I can't mention:

Fish Fingers
South America
Anyone from London
Why girls become vets
Bandy legs
Vomit


I can probably relate a superb piece of cock-blocking** that Mr.C and I executed. Apparently this was 'not funny'. I disagree - the 'kicked-puppy' look once it was realised that she'd run away was priceless, ha ha ha.

The poor girl, looking very much like she was watching a tennis match as the ball went from one side to the other, 'overheard' the following conversation between Mr. C and I:

"He's a nice chap token, isn't he?"
"Well, for someone from Plymouth."
"Yes, that goes without saying, but it's not like he lives there."
"Not after his wife left him no."
"Both wives, if you think about it."
"Well the second one was never going to last after she found out about the seven kids was it?"
"From 5 different mothers, of course"
"Such a shame about the restraining order" *shakes head slowly*
"I think that's what caused the breakdown"
"He only got a short stint in jail for breaching it though, so it wasn't all bad."
"Yeah, but that's where he picked up that STD."
"True. I heard it nearly fell off....."

Subtle? Moi? ;-)

Oh, I am allowed to mention token needing more cigarettes at 1am, so we found an all-night garage and stuck him in the queue while Mr. C and I flagged down a taxi. We were sitting there in the taxi waiting while token came staggering across the forecourt putting his change back in his wallet. He then attempt a nonchalant little flick of the wrist to snap his wallet shut (clearly thinking of himself as some sort of city trader or something). All this little flick did was spray about a kilogram of assorted coins all over the forecourt. It did get to a point when I felt required to point out that the waiting taxi was costing us more than the 5ps token was hunting down with the grace of a defecating rhino.

I could also recount how token dropped his cigarette and spent 5 minutes stood over it trying to work out how to bend down without falling over, but finally giving up and going for a piss on the BBC (in full view of several cars) instead.

Or how having finally herded the monkeys into my flat and gone to bed, I was woken at 4am when token, having left his room (with the door open and the light on) went to the toilet and then walked straight past his room and blundered into mine until I told him to bugger off, where he blundered into the living room and woke Mr. C up, before staggering into the only room left - that had its light on - and passing out again.

Or how I was also woken at 7am by the Knight Rider theme tune at ear-splitting volume as Mr. C had forgot to turn his alarm off and had left his phone in a bag directly outside my room. Thanks. For. That.

I so need sleep this week!


This was after the Alabama 3 gig and they'd been drinking for about 9 hours. I felt a small amount of evilness was fully justified.

It was also the last time I'll see hobbit and her bloke J before they emigrate to Melbourne next week. Good to see you both again and will see you for the cricket :) The first of the Ramesys crew to escape the country!

It was just a shame that the smokers*** wanting another drink in the pub garden over the road from the gig meant that we missed the start of it. Grrrrrrrr............


*The private forum for Spurs fans I'm a member of. This is less sinister than it sounds.
**And fully justified after the abuse I got from about 5 pints on. That and it would've been naughty, and I don't allow naughty (do as I say, not as I do.)
***Everyone but me.