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» Nightclubs
The Magical Irish Bow Tie
First of all, I have to applaud the Huddersfield University Events team for organising the most dreary, pathetic graduation ball in the history of time.
The only reason I had decided to go was because I had been trying to get my end away with the most beautiful blonde angel by the name of Suzanne. Id stare at her in Lectures for hours on end and when she asked if I'd go to the Grad ball with her, I was never gonna miss it.
A plate of crap food and a few too many nerve calming shots of cheap vodka later, I was on the dancefloor, doing my thing.
Suzanne clearly wasnt impressed with my moves and was staring at me like I was a demented rapist on acid.
And when she left with another man, i had 2 choices. Sit in the corner and sulk or round up some troops and go to Camel Club. The latter it was.
Earlier on in the night I had closley resembled a Fine Gentleman in my hired Tuxedo but now i looked more like a pengiun that had narrowly escaped the claws of a yeti.
My kind mates, took measures to straighten me up in an attempt to get my stumbling ass past the beady eyed bouncers.
Not only did my perfectly straight bow tie, get me past the bouncers but it also seems that tuxedo's and drunk women on dancefloors are like moths and flames.
A few pints later and enjoying the female attention, out of the smoke and from deep within the club, i saw a large silloute approaching.
This huge Troll promptly walks up to me and in the prettiest of Irish accents squeaks "caan oiy weear yoour tiy?"
Until this day, i do not know why but my retort came in the most outrageous faux Irish accent that sounded more like a scottish/northern irish hybrid and in the highest tone "suuure"
We had a lenghty conversation about growing up in our respective irish towns and even though i was bought up in rural surrey, i had gathered enough knowledge and shaping of irish words from my NI flatmates; i could pull it off.
After a long tonguing session in the club we left to go back to hers. How she didnt expose my dodgy accent away from the noisy club, I still don't know
When During the act, she exclaimed she, and I quote, "Loikes t be noisy" i felt the need to join in.
I can tell you that there is no dignity in shouting "JESUS CHROIST" at the top of your lungs in a fake irish accent, still wearing a bow tie.
Unable to keep up the act, I left at the earliest opportunity and unable to escape the from under her bridge, had to scale the fence and broke my foot on the descent.
I spent the next day in hospital with a huge hangover and an even worse sense of shame.
(Wed 8th Apr 2009, 17:55, More)
The Magical Irish Bow Tie
First of all, I have to applaud the Huddersfield University Events team for organising the most dreary, pathetic graduation ball in the history of time.
The only reason I had decided to go was because I had been trying to get my end away with the most beautiful blonde angel by the name of Suzanne. Id stare at her in Lectures for hours on end and when she asked if I'd go to the Grad ball with her, I was never gonna miss it.
A plate of crap food and a few too many nerve calming shots of cheap vodka later, I was on the dancefloor, doing my thing.
Suzanne clearly wasnt impressed with my moves and was staring at me like I was a demented rapist on acid.
And when she left with another man, i had 2 choices. Sit in the corner and sulk or round up some troops and go to Camel Club. The latter it was.
Earlier on in the night I had closley resembled a Fine Gentleman in my hired Tuxedo but now i looked more like a pengiun that had narrowly escaped the claws of a yeti.
My kind mates, took measures to straighten me up in an attempt to get my stumbling ass past the beady eyed bouncers.
Not only did my perfectly straight bow tie, get me past the bouncers but it also seems that tuxedo's and drunk women on dancefloors are like moths and flames.
A few pints later and enjoying the female attention, out of the smoke and from deep within the club, i saw a large silloute approaching.
This huge Troll promptly walks up to me and in the prettiest of Irish accents squeaks "caan oiy weear yoour tiy?"
Until this day, i do not know why but my retort came in the most outrageous faux Irish accent that sounded more like a scottish/northern irish hybrid and in the highest tone "suuure"
We had a lenghty conversation about growing up in our respective irish towns and even though i was bought up in rural surrey, i had gathered enough knowledge and shaping of irish words from my NI flatmates; i could pull it off.
After a long tonguing session in the club we left to go back to hers. How she didnt expose my dodgy accent away from the noisy club, I still don't know
When During the act, she exclaimed she, and I quote, "Loikes t be noisy" i felt the need to join in.
I can tell you that there is no dignity in shouting "JESUS CHROIST" at the top of your lungs in a fake irish accent, still wearing a bow tie.
Unable to keep up the act, I left at the earliest opportunity and unable to escape the from under her bridge, had to scale the fence and broke my foot on the descent.
I spent the next day in hospital with a huge hangover and an even worse sense of shame.
(Wed 8th Apr 2009, 17:55, More)
» Unexpected Nudity
Toblerone art
Being bored youths in a sixth form college in rural Surrey is a difficult stage in life. Pre drinking but post puberty, means that testosterone and boredom lead to peculiar and amusingly immature behaviour such as indoor baseball with a snooker ball and cue and hours of causing each other deliberate pain....you get the idea.
On one particularly boring afternoon, a friend of mine, Alex, decided instead of the usual fighting and breaking things, he would turn his boredom and hormonal behaviour into a fine piece of art.
He chose the underside of a common room coffee table as his canvas.
His art?.... A fine and detailed picture of a grimacing and naked man with a full length toblerone eminating from his rear end.
7 Years later, it is still there; slightly faded but in its full glory. I recently heard that the picture has gone down in folklore at the school. Year 11 students are made aware that there is an amusing drawing somewhere in the common room and that their task is to find it.
Many students no doubt have signed up to GCS sixth form just to witness this piece of art and are still surprised when they see the nature and detail of the drawing.
(Mon 1st Jun 2009, 17:25, More)
Toblerone art
Being bored youths in a sixth form college in rural Surrey is a difficult stage in life. Pre drinking but post puberty, means that testosterone and boredom lead to peculiar and amusingly immature behaviour such as indoor baseball with a snooker ball and cue and hours of causing each other deliberate pain....you get the idea.
On one particularly boring afternoon, a friend of mine, Alex, decided instead of the usual fighting and breaking things, he would turn his boredom and hormonal behaviour into a fine piece of art.
He chose the underside of a common room coffee table as his canvas.
His art?.... A fine and detailed picture of a grimacing and naked man with a full length toblerone eminating from his rear end.
7 Years later, it is still there; slightly faded but in its full glory. I recently heard that the picture has gone down in folklore at the school. Year 11 students are made aware that there is an amusing drawing somewhere in the common room and that their task is to find it.
Many students no doubt have signed up to GCS sixth form just to witness this piece of art and are still surprised when they see the nature and detail of the drawing.
(Mon 1st Jun 2009, 17:25, More)
» Nightclubs
Golf Clubs
One Summer, when I was back in my hometown from University, I feebly attempted to chat up a stunning young lady. Although I never did get my end away, it turned out that we both attended the same university and not only that, but we lived on the very same road, she was at 145 and i was in 158. A striking coincidence! As soft as it sounds, we actually became great friends and although, I lost the battle, There was still a war to be won: She must have attractive friends I thought!
When she asked me to go and celebrate her 21st birthday, my one track mind started running away with itself.
The theme was 80's Rockstars, the format was pub golf and the destination was Tokyo club.
Although I only knew my attractive friend, after a couple of swift hole-in-one's, I was getting along with everyone like a house on fire. The only problem was, her female friends were not the beautiful creatures i has yearned for but instead were ...how can I put this gently...as attractive as a donkey with downs syndrome. All of them.
Nevertheless, getting more pissed, being dressed as Tommy Lee and being the new guy, I was receiving alot of attention from these beauty challenged creatures.
Eventually, I was on the dancefloor in Tokyo when I noticed one of them staring at me through the crowd, being as pissed as I was I gave her the good old 'come hither' look expecting perhaps a cheeky dance and a snog. I was not prepared for what was about to happen.
She waddled over to me and before I knew it she had me pinned against the wall with her tongue down my throat and her hands wandering. Before I could mutter the words 'what the fuck!', I was in a cublcle in the conveniently unisex toilets with my kaks round my ankles and a large wobbly skinned beast approaching my attentive little soldier.
A few euphoric and at the same time life-scarring minutes later she stands up, wipes down and leaves.
I didnt hang around much longer after that and went home to bed satisfied that I had a cracking story to tell the lads the next day.
In the morning, adhereing to our hangover ritual we went to the local wetherspoons for a greasy fry up.
As I sat down, and started to explain the previous nights scenario to the now engrossed lads, I only paused to give the waitress my food order.
I'm sure you can guess who the waitress was now waiting for my order as she overheard my detailed explanation that you've just read of the sordid act she had performed on me just hours earlier.
Needless to say, our hangover ritual changed and I never went to that wetherpoons again!
(Tue 14th Apr 2009, 16:46, More)
Golf Clubs
One Summer, when I was back in my hometown from University, I feebly attempted to chat up a stunning young lady. Although I never did get my end away, it turned out that we both attended the same university and not only that, but we lived on the very same road, she was at 145 and i was in 158. A striking coincidence! As soft as it sounds, we actually became great friends and although, I lost the battle, There was still a war to be won: She must have attractive friends I thought!
When she asked me to go and celebrate her 21st birthday, my one track mind started running away with itself.
The theme was 80's Rockstars, the format was pub golf and the destination was Tokyo club.
Although I only knew my attractive friend, after a couple of swift hole-in-one's, I was getting along with everyone like a house on fire. The only problem was, her female friends were not the beautiful creatures i has yearned for but instead were ...how can I put this gently...as attractive as a donkey with downs syndrome. All of them.
Nevertheless, getting more pissed, being dressed as Tommy Lee and being the new guy, I was receiving alot of attention from these beauty challenged creatures.
Eventually, I was on the dancefloor in Tokyo when I noticed one of them staring at me through the crowd, being as pissed as I was I gave her the good old 'come hither' look expecting perhaps a cheeky dance and a snog. I was not prepared for what was about to happen.
She waddled over to me and before I knew it she had me pinned against the wall with her tongue down my throat and her hands wandering. Before I could mutter the words 'what the fuck!', I was in a cublcle in the conveniently unisex toilets with my kaks round my ankles and a large wobbly skinned beast approaching my attentive little soldier.
A few euphoric and at the same time life-scarring minutes later she stands up, wipes down and leaves.
I didnt hang around much longer after that and went home to bed satisfied that I had a cracking story to tell the lads the next day.
In the morning, adhereing to our hangover ritual we went to the local wetherspoons for a greasy fry up.
As I sat down, and started to explain the previous nights scenario to the now engrossed lads, I only paused to give the waitress my food order.
I'm sure you can guess who the waitress was now waiting for my order as she overheard my detailed explanation that you've just read of the sordid act she had performed on me just hours earlier.
Needless to say, our hangover ritual changed and I never went to that wetherpoons again!
(Tue 14th Apr 2009, 16:46, More)
» Helicopter Parents
The speeding ticket incident
On that fateful day, 17 years old and oblivious to the frequency of which speeding cameras were being erected across the country's A roads, I was what can only be described as cruising into Lincoln via worksop in my new bright green diesel Vauxhall Corsa. Daydreaming about what the night ahead entailed for I was visiting my brother at University for the first time - my first taste of student life, preparing my body for a weekend of alcohol and drug abuse and with any luck, a sexual encounter with one of the east midlands finest female offerings.
"Cross the roundabout, second exit" droned the SatNav
the sport injection kicked in on the exit
"Go straight on" she repeated
A completely clear road invited the foot/accelerator combo
60,70,80......90mph
FLASH FLASH!
Audible only to myself, a string of swear words that seldom fell from my young mouth eminated loudly.
I pulled over and did what any broke, pissed off 17 year old does, I called Dad and confessed that I had been caught doing 93mph in a 60mph zone. Maybe enough to invite a serious fine and ban.
To my immense surprise my Dad was very calm about it, It was only later that I realised why - he had hatched a devious plan.
One thing you need to know about my dad, and this is by no means any kind of brag, is that he is well-known in my home town. Not well known in the famous, paparazzi and screaming girls sense but in the sense that the kind of people who you dont want to know, know him and more often than not, owe him a favour or two.
To this end, sitting on the side of the road, cacking my pants, wondering what im gonna do without a license for the rest of my life, My Dad called back.
"Dont Worry Son, Its taken care of"
" What do you mean Dad? Im gonna get points on my license, maybe even a ban"
" I said don't worry, Its taken care of"
I asked no further questions. Years later, having never recieved any of the points or the fine, I asked my Dad what happend that day. He pulled out the police file of the speeding incident. Under the named driver column was quite clearly a polish name. I dont know any polish people!
My Dad was so concerned that I would lose my license that he pulled in one of his favours from a guy I only know as 'Big Nige' who is, lets just say, VERY influential. Apparently the polish guy owed Big Nige some money. Instead of paying he got 6 points and a £100 fine on his license.
Ive still got a clean license but a very slight sense of guilt.
(Mon 14th Sep 2009, 11:58, More)
The speeding ticket incident
On that fateful day, 17 years old and oblivious to the frequency of which speeding cameras were being erected across the country's A roads, I was what can only be described as cruising into Lincoln via worksop in my new bright green diesel Vauxhall Corsa. Daydreaming about what the night ahead entailed for I was visiting my brother at University for the first time - my first taste of student life, preparing my body for a weekend of alcohol and drug abuse and with any luck, a sexual encounter with one of the east midlands finest female offerings.
"Cross the roundabout, second exit" droned the SatNav
the sport injection kicked in on the exit
"Go straight on" she repeated
A completely clear road invited the foot/accelerator combo
60,70,80......90mph
FLASH FLASH!
Audible only to myself, a string of swear words that seldom fell from my young mouth eminated loudly.
I pulled over and did what any broke, pissed off 17 year old does, I called Dad and confessed that I had been caught doing 93mph in a 60mph zone. Maybe enough to invite a serious fine and ban.
To my immense surprise my Dad was very calm about it, It was only later that I realised why - he had hatched a devious plan.
One thing you need to know about my dad, and this is by no means any kind of brag, is that he is well-known in my home town. Not well known in the famous, paparazzi and screaming girls sense but in the sense that the kind of people who you dont want to know, know him and more often than not, owe him a favour or two.
To this end, sitting on the side of the road, cacking my pants, wondering what im gonna do without a license for the rest of my life, My Dad called back.
"Dont Worry Son, Its taken care of"
" What do you mean Dad? Im gonna get points on my license, maybe even a ban"
" I said don't worry, Its taken care of"
I asked no further questions. Years later, having never recieved any of the points or the fine, I asked my Dad what happend that day. He pulled out the police file of the speeding incident. Under the named driver column was quite clearly a polish name. I dont know any polish people!
My Dad was so concerned that I would lose my license that he pulled in one of his favours from a guy I only know as 'Big Nige' who is, lets just say, VERY influential. Apparently the polish guy owed Big Nige some money. Instead of paying he got 6 points and a £100 fine on his license.
Ive still got a clean license but a very slight sense of guilt.
(Mon 14th Sep 2009, 11:58, More)
» Festivals
La Tomatina
Don't, for the love of God, go to this festival.
The worlds largest food fight...La Tomatina is held in a tiny village called Bunol near Valencia. They defrost thousands and thousands of spanish tomatoes and pour them into the streets of the village using large trucks that barely fit down the narrow roads.
Being young and baulchy, I threw myself into it with youthful vigour. My excitement soon turned to horror as I crammed my way into the body filled streets.
First of all. The locals take pleasure in pouring buckets of water from their balconies onto the unsuspecting masses. Some even have hoses! The first time its quite refreshing (in 40 degree heat) the 20th time, it can get annoying!
Secondly, there are hoardes of burly spanish men who take it upon themselves to rip the shirts of the backs of unsuspecting tourists...male or female. Did I mention, the shirts are wet too. Have you ever had a wet shirt ripped off your back? It fucking hurts!
Then as the truck approaches, you have are forced onto the pavement with thousands of people and as it passes you become knee high in tomato juice and commence throwing. The texture is like stepping into the kebab you ate last night AFTER you have ejected it from you system and added rotting tomato sauce. The smell is similarly unbearable. The activity is dangerous and frantic. Also, some of the tomatoes are not properly defrosted and these particular tomatoes can cause serious injury.
Now half naked, bruised and covered in tomato juice you make your way out of the village only to discover that you have lost a shoe and the other is now unwearable.
Whats more; as the 40 degree sun rays burn tomato juice into your skin you realise that if you added a bit of mozarella, you would infact be a pizza. Only its a sweaty, out of date pizza.
Having said all this I loved it as it really was a once in a life-time experience.
(Thu 4th Jun 2009, 16:05, More)
La Tomatina
Don't, for the love of God, go to this festival.
The worlds largest food fight...La Tomatina is held in a tiny village called Bunol near Valencia. They defrost thousands and thousands of spanish tomatoes and pour them into the streets of the village using large trucks that barely fit down the narrow roads.
Being young and baulchy, I threw myself into it with youthful vigour. My excitement soon turned to horror as I crammed my way into the body filled streets.
First of all. The locals take pleasure in pouring buckets of water from their balconies onto the unsuspecting masses. Some even have hoses! The first time its quite refreshing (in 40 degree heat) the 20th time, it can get annoying!
Secondly, there are hoardes of burly spanish men who take it upon themselves to rip the shirts of the backs of unsuspecting tourists...male or female. Did I mention, the shirts are wet too. Have you ever had a wet shirt ripped off your back? It fucking hurts!
Then as the truck approaches, you have are forced onto the pavement with thousands of people and as it passes you become knee high in tomato juice and commence throwing. The texture is like stepping into the kebab you ate last night AFTER you have ejected it from you system and added rotting tomato sauce. The smell is similarly unbearable. The activity is dangerous and frantic. Also, some of the tomatoes are not properly defrosted and these particular tomatoes can cause serious injury.
Now half naked, bruised and covered in tomato juice you make your way out of the village only to discover that you have lost a shoe and the other is now unwearable.
Whats more; as the 40 degree sun rays burn tomato juice into your skin you realise that if you added a bit of mozarella, you would infact be a pizza. Only its a sweaty, out of date pizza.
Having said all this I loved it as it really was a once in a life-time experience.
(Thu 4th Jun 2009, 16:05, More)