DAY 171. THAI BAR DISASTER KO JUM

Last night was interesting. I went to this bar called Fu Bar which was nice – it had some proper friendly Thais running it, called Gallah and O. Gallah made me a smashing Mojito soon as I got there so I was tipsy pretty quick. I had a few more beers chatting to an Australian couple. They were classic Aussies, asking for tinnies and smashing through them like wildfire. She kept referring to me as little Pommy boy which I kind of liked though it was definitely weird.

Then disaster struck. I realised I’d forgotten my money – it was left in the bungalow way back down the beach. I informed O and asked the Aussies to watch my bag while I grabbed the money. I could have taken my bag but felt I owed the bar guys a bit of insurance I was coming back.

Bear in mind this is a big beach. It took me aaages to get back to my hut. It was also pretty dark, so I was clambering over rocks, falling into mini beach river canyons, stubbing my toes and avoiding rope obstacles. It was like the ‘On A Bear Hunt’ book but in the dark.

Finally I got back to the hut where, as I stood at the door, I realised I’d left my keys back at the bar. In my ‘insurance’ bag. Shit. Either I had to go on another bear hunt, just to get my keys, which of course would involve another TWO bear hunts on top of that in order to grab the money then return once again to the bar. Three more bear hunts was more than I could handle, so I went for the other option, try to break into my hut. 

As mentioned in a previous instalment the hut was not the most cutting edge of constructions. This was good with regards to breaking in, I soon found. I clambered right up to the window, shoved it open, and fell in. It was bad, however, with regards to the huge chunk of the building I obliterated on my way up. I later failed miserably to disguise this.

Once inside I desperately searched for my money pouch. Then it dawned on me. Some time earlier at the bar, before all this drama had begun, I had heard a small thud. I thought nothing of it. ‘Probably just a massive insect or something’ was the thought that passed my brain. But now it became more important. That was my goddamn money!

I climbed out the hut once more, taking out another chunk as I went. Walked briskly back to the bar and there it was, on the floor where I’d first sat. My money pouch. 

What a polava.

DAY 168.RUGBY AND AN OTTOMAN SOUTH OF THE RIVER

12.03.16

It was the day that England played Wales in the Six Nations and we were planning a civilised and productive day.

So it was that I ventured out the house in the direction of Battersea at 4pm. I was going to be late, but it was ok. For I was meeting John. And if there’s one thing you can guarantee about John, is that he’ll be late.

We bumped into each other outside a church near Clapham Junction, remarked on the obscenely pompous conversations we had overheard on the streets on the way over, then headed on to The Eagle Ale House.

As soon as we walked in I was happy. It was busy and bustling, but not rammed and uncomfortable. And it had that dodgy pub feel that isn’t acceptable under 99% of situations, but is fundamental to the atmosphere of a sporting event.

I bought myself a Heineken – it was warm outside – and John a seriously funky looking pint of ale. Then we proceeded outside.

It was rowdy, the tables were wobbly, the TV screen was the least reliable thing I have ever seen – every 20 seconds it would flicker to white noise, and I was forever fearful I would witness the return of that weird girl with a dummy standby screen you used to get in the 90s. And yet I really loved this pub. It had an essence of reality to it. It knew it was a bit shit, but it didn’t ask forgiveness. It just accepted and carried on as best it could. I can respect that.

Wales lost the game, much to my horror. But John kept me entertained by pointing out the WAGS standing in the corner. Fake faces with fake hair. Fake fingers and fake personalities. But one stood out beyond the realms of believability. She had so much fake tan on she looked like something from a horror movie. ‘The Manakin That Fell In The Mud’.

But anyway we had three pints, Fred and Kim turned up, then we went to another pub to be constructive. I don’t even remember where this pub was, which is a forewarning of how the night was to go on. All I know is that it was somewhere near Victoria.

John, Fred and I are planning a joint 30^th birthday party in June, and we had until this point done very little to organise it. So this evening had been set aside to get everything sorted, planned and in action.

We wrote the invitations and did very little else. Mainly had another few pints here, awaited Pippa’s arrival, then crawled the streets of Victoria for a restaurant.

We liked the look of a Chinese restaurant but I pushed John in a bush outside so we couldn’t go there anymore, and instead settled on an Ottoman place. Noone really knew what Ottoman food was, which was probably its biggest selling point.

So we dived in and bought a load of cocktails before settling down for a massive meal, with two bottles of wine. Then for dessert we had some shots of raki. Though Kim and I didn’t like ours so we gave them to Freddie. By the time we left we were all shitfaced and I can’t really remember what happened after that.

I think we went to a bar and bought some more drinks, before saying goodbye to John and Pippa as they headed to Victoria for a train home. It was just Fred, Kim and I as we went to Fred’s car to pick up his West Ham shirt. Apparently we had a little wrestle on this occasion and in some way I smashed a glass and totally covered the car in it. This all came from Kim’s memory and I’m not sure I believe it.

In our drunken state we got an uber taxi to Leicester Square to spend the little money we had in a Casino. This was a terrible idea. Fortunately the security on all four Casinos we tried felt the same and refused us entry. We tried all sorts of tricks – going for some ‘water’, having a snack, changing our clothes. But no, on every occasion Freddie was just too drunk.

As an experiment we sent Kim in alone to the Empire Casino. We wanted to see just how selective the security were. Of course she got in. Only for Freddie to charge up to the security and shout through to her. ‘SWEEEEEEET-HEEEEART!’ There he was, held back by big burly bouncers, screaming at the top of his voice into a respectable establishment.

At first she wisely chose to ignore it, but the caterwauling failed to cease. And so ultimately she relented and returned to him, her plan foiled.

Of course this wouldn’t be the end of it. We at this moment decided it would be wise to have our second sitdown meal of the night. We ventured in to the only Chinese restaurant still open at 3am and ordered a massive meal. This consisted of 90% tofu. 80% of which Freddie threw all over Kim and the restaurant. Mainly Kim.

This made it all the more embarrassing when Freddie had to return to the place the next day to pick up his West Ham Shirt.

They were not impressed.

 

DAY 167. BUGGED OUT AT BUTLINS. DAY 2.

17.01.15

Shit sorry this was fucking ages ago. I’ve been slack.

It was day 2 of Bugged Out festival. We woke up worse for wears, but it was all ok. For we had snuck some massive speakers into our rooms, so we could get on the beers while we smashed out some house. But the one thing that was keeping us going. The one thing that spurred us all on. Was the promise of the pool party.

Slides. Rapids. Waves. And more importantly, a DJ.

We all got suitably drunk and rushed down to the pool, throwing on our swimming gear and running into the cool chlorinated water. First target was the slides, causing as much mischief as possible. Then the rubber ring rapids. Where I managed to get told off on a number of occasions. Who would have thought rubber rings had so many rules!?

Then when the DJ kicked off we bounded into the pool, jumped in the waves, and caused as much destruction with inflatables as possible. Somehow a person who actually worked for Bugged Out had thought it sensible to put a massive inflatable block of death in the pool with everyone. It was a huge solid rectangular thing, the size of a man. And as I’m sure you can imagine the horde of drunken people in the pool found various ways to use it as a weapon.

We would fight as hard as we could for it. Launch it into the air on as rocket-like a projectile as possible. Then watch as it crashed down onto an unsuspecting stranger below. While it was hilarious to watch it land on a stranger, the most entertainment came when it landed on one of our group, blissfully aware, looking into the distance. BOSH. Right on the bonce!

But alas at some point it was over. I finished my hipflask, which I’d found bobbing around in the water from time to time. We dried off. And we went back to the apartments. Where the drinking ensued.

While the mayhem got started we snuck off and watched a surprise guest, who was a bit shit. So instead we stole a trolley and went on a rolling rampage with everyone on it. Sadly it ended in disaster when we totally lost control, cascaded down a hill, and spilled out onto the floor at the feet of a security guard. He was not impressed.

When we returned to the apartments things were getting interesting. Matt had a dolphin on his head. Which meant the night had properly begun.

 

 

This was a sign we must leave the apartments. Which is also a sign that my memory would start to get blurry.

Obviously one thing I’ll never forget is Jake taking a shit in the sink. That is one moment that will forever be burned into my psyche. Like napalm. Hot, burning napalm.

 

 

DAY 166. BUGGED OUT AT BUTLINS. DAY 1.

16.01.15

I finished at work on the Friday evening. It had been a long punishing week. I was ready to collapse. But fortunately there was one engagement that could keep me motivated. One reason that I could continue my movements in hope.

I picked up Grant from the local station and we drove south. South to Bognor. To Butlins. For a winter festival of dreams and nightmares. The Bugged Out Weekender.

We arrived at Butlins at 8pm and encountered the crew. There were twenty of us in total split over four 7-bed apartments. I love a good camping festival. But sleeping in a proper bed in your own apartment in January after a heavy night of house music is beyond all worldly pleasures in this life. Especially when you can wake up to cold milk and a box of crunchy nut cornflakes.

So upon arrival we got the booze out, set up Jake’s massive speakers and began the revelry. It was like a holiday and a house party (in your own house) combined into one, with all your best friends and no dicks.

Unsurprisingly it was some time before we left the apartments. During this time Amy jumped out a window we got totally smashed.

Then we headed to the dance halls.

To be honest I have no recollection at all of who we saw that night. The only reason I know we saw Jonas Rathsman is that it says name in the photo above that I apparently took.

What I do remember is discovering The Shop.

The fact that I’ve put The Shop with capital letters probably makes you think it was a special hidden dance floor. Or even an underground bar that few knew the location of.

In fact it was just a shop.

A classic dodgy Butlins shop that sold the most useless things in the world. Of course we loved it. It had those weird tubes you turn upside down to make a nnnnnnnnggggrrrrr noise. It had rabbit ears:

But best of all it had a variety of weird sacky gloopy things. We used a number of the tubes to get some slow motion facial video slaps. One day I’ll find out where they are and let you know. Such things can never reside in the realm of forgotten for too long.

Then we took a squidgy little green creature thing that was to become known as Cedric, and left.

It was Butlins. So between all the various dance floors you had to walk through an area of arcade machines. Many of which we played on. And a challenge arose.

The flight simulator.

How many people can you fit in a flight simulator?

We piled and squeezed as many as we could. Arms over heads and elbows into groins. It was at least 7 of us in that tiny space – you know the shitty little simulators you get that cost £2 a go.

We switched it on to rollercoaster mode.

And thus began 5 of the most hellishly enjoyable minutes of my life. Thrown from left to right, forward and backwards. In a mass of contorted bodies. Every exposed fleshy part experiencing the pain only an anonymous bone can inflict.

At last it ended and we scrambled out. I felt sicker than I have ever felt before. And I’ve felt pretty sick.

Fortunately I kept it contained. We just returned to a dance floor.

And continued to dance like crazy persons.

I turned to Ben and told him to stick with myself, Jake or Freddie so as not to get lost.

Then turned and smashed Kate’s drink with my hand and watched it splurt all over her. She was soaked. So I bought her a new beer. I gave it to her and said: “Come with me!”

In doing so, as you do, I gesticulated wildly. And catapulted her fresh beer out of her hand and into the air. It hit the ground with the explosive force of a dirty bomb.

But luckily there was something to distract us. A truly odd sight.

There was an elderly couple raving it up in front of us. This isn’t odd though. I believe anyone no matter who they are or what they do should have the right to dance to whatever they want.

It was the fact that the elderly female had the most terrifyingly solemn look on her face I’ve ever witnessed. The elderly gent on the other hand was having the time of his life, while waving a teddy bear in the air. Like it was a god. Maybe it was a god. Who knows?

Though on second thoughts we were dancing with a luminous green squidgy thing so maybe a teddy bear isn’t that strange after all.

By the end of this small interruption I turned to Ben and he was gone. Vanished. This was literally 5 minutes max since I told him to stand by my side. I don’t know how he managed it.

I decided to phone Grant, who was also missing, to see if he was with Ben.

Upon answering the phone he informed me he was at that very moment vomiting into a bush. There were strangers watching. Lots of strangers.

DAY 157. DRINKING. ADVENTURE. FABRIC.

17.10.14

On Friday night we found ourselves at Fabric once again. It was another Four Tet marathon, and a great excuse to get mashed.

This was a long time ago, so I can’t remember much.

Jake and I had a massive queue to get in, but we consumed a gallon of dirty shitmix. When we made it through the doors we were quite tipsy.

Thus began a dedicated bass dance until 6am, every now and then broken up with a little interval.

On one such interval the other Jake decided to attack me with a glass of water. He got me quite wet. So I got him quite wet.

Then he snuck of, a mischievous look in his eye.

Fortunately I glimpsed him skulking around, out of the corner of my eye, full pint of beer in hand.

He came at me from behind, whereupon I struck out just in time, diverting his quickly extending arm in the opposite direction. The contents of his glass emptied itself. All over the innocent bystander that was Chilcott. He was soaked. Head to toe. In beer.

On the way home at tube hours there was a man who was very nearly balanced but not quite. As the train jolted to a start he tinkered, then rolled over onto his back. Like a tortoise being flipped upside-down by an imaginary force.

Amy smoothly enquired whether he was ok, to which he replied slurringly:

‘Fyyyyne.’

We managed to keep our cool for about 30 seconds, until we made eye contact with one another. Then the awkward giggling began. Just a tiny titter at first, then a slight snigger. And then we erupted, and there was no stopping us. Wherever I looked there was no respite, even burying my head in the glass could not save me.

We all openly burst into laughter, disgusted at ourselves, yet unable to stop. Like a fat child that can’t bring himself to put the ice-cream back in the fridge.

As we pulled into the next stop the drunk man skulked off the train, a sad face cemented below his brow.

I suspect we ruined his night.

DAY 156. DRINKING. ADVENTURE. CHESSBOXING. ROUND 2.

11.10.14

It was Saturday. It was evening. It was time for some chessboxing.

We headed to King’s Cross and we got drinking. I think it was at The Big Chill, but I can’t remember. John, Laver, Roo and I.

After a few pints we were all totally mashed – it was one of those days – and we headed to Scala for some Chessboxing action.

I purchased Lave a pint at the bar, but he was a little unsteady on his feet, so he spilled a bit.

A man came over to mop it up. But Laver got quite interested in the mopping up process and stood next to the man to observe. This meant he accidentally spilled more beer directly onto the mop head that was being used to mop up the beer he’d just spilled. This cycle continued for at least a minute, with neither Laver noticing he had a constant stream of beer pouring all over the floor, nor with the mop man knowing what to do with the inescapable situation he had found himself in.

Fortunately the cycle was broken somehow, and we made it up to the chessboxing. John marched us straight through the crowd, that had been waiting for hours, and elbowed us a position right at the front, 3 metres from the ring, the best seats in the house. We were close enough for Laver to get in the way of the competitors every time they entered or left the ring.

As always, the sport was sensational. Grandmaster chess man gave a superb cutting commentary, and we shouted and shouted. There was even a lady’s match, for which we shouted twice as hard.

And then it was over. Due to our prime position John and Lave had signed themselves up to play the Grandmaster in the ring.

Lave went up first.

And lost in literally 10 seconds. He stilll has no recollection of this whatsoever.

Then up went John. He still lost – the man is a grandmaster after all – but he gave him a good run for his money.

It was this point we lost Lave entirely, and after some frantic scouting gave up the search. We were to later find out he woke up at 4am on a bus travelling the wrong direction out of London.

It was here John and I had the bright idea of cycling on Boris bikes back to Shepherd’s Bush. We got them out and started peddling.

First of all we stopped and had a chat with some rickshaw guys. They were all totally insane. It’s funny you see them peddling all around in London all day and night but you never have a proper discussion with them and find out just how crazy they really are. It was nice.

Then we started the long ride, and had another great idea. Challenges.

I challenged John to ride and jump off the back of his bike onto a moving rickshaw, which he did with great skill. The rickshaw man was not impressed.

For my challenge John got me to hop over a fence, run to a wall, then run back.

In the 20 seconds it took me to do so someone STOLE MY BLOODY BORIS BIKE.

Thus began 24 hours of drunk/hungover conversations with the police.

Oh. Dear.

DAY 155. DRINKING. ADVENTURE. USHERED.

04.10.14

IT WAS ONLY THE DAY OF GRANT’S BLOODY WEDDING!

We all woke up and had some shots of tequila. Then put on our morning suits. I had forgotten to bring cuff links so was forced to carve them out of a bush:

I do believe wearing a morning suit and getting drunk at your mate’s wedding is one of the greatest delights in life. On this occasion Ben, John, Martin and I were all ushers. This was ideal. Being an usher means you have some responsibility, but not too much to make it stressful. Yet you are properly part of the wedding party, which means you feel bloody fantastic. Also your main job is giving out alcohol to people, and obviously topping up your own glass.

Having got dressed and finished the tequila we travelled to the venue. A gorgeous building called Valentines Mansion.

We set up and tried to settle Grant’s nerves, then the ceremony began.

Afterwards it was champagne pouring time. I drank many glasses and got very sloshed.

There was an hours sobering up before we travelled to the reception venue, at The Gibberd Garden.

We grabbed a load of wine and got smashed. We played some croquet, attempted some swing-ball, and then went for a jaunt round the gardens. The highlights of the gardens were the fort:

And of course the dogs. We couldn’t help but ride them:

But it all went too fast. We did some talking and some drinking and then woke up the next morning. If only these events could last a whole weekend. They go by in a flash.

Just like the lives we lead.

DAY 154. DRINKING. ADVENTURE. POTS, PANS, AND A LOUD SINGING MAN.

03.10.14

Ben picked me up after work for a journey to Essex. It’s was Grant’s wedding the next day, and we were excited.

On the way we stopped at The Theydon Oak.

A bloody gorgeous pub as you can see from the outside. And inside it was even better. It was covered, floor to ceiling, in copper pans. Pans, pans, pans. Now this pub had proper old school character without the pans, but this improved the situation tenfold.

Obviously we made some silly faces in the reflections.

We had some reasonably priced ales from the friendly staff and munched away on some standard pub food.

Until the musician came on.

Ben and I loved the musician with all our hearts, but that’s because we are strange folk. Everyone else hated him. Because he was so bloody loud. The volume was up to a thousand, but not only that he was SHOUTING INTO THE MICROPHONE.

He had a hilarious song of his own, which I can’t remember. Which deafened the poor old ladies trying to have a conversation over dinner.

But we of course left the pub shouting it as loud as we possibly could. Just as he did.

DAY 153. DRINKING. ADVENTURE. BARE BEARS AT THE PARTY OF BEARS.

20.09.14

The day had finally come upon us. It was the Bear Party at Westville Road. We had beer pong and bee hives and trees and decks. We also had the most disgraceful punch ever known to man. It had a combination of at least 5 different spirits, many types of wine, port and some other shit I can’t even imagine. And that was the first mix – the second was considerably worse.

I aimed to not get too drunk on this occasion – as I always end up getting smashed to oblivion at parties.

I got dressed in my Chief Crazy Bear costume:

Then got smashed to oblivion.

I literally have no idea what happened this entire evening.

‘Gulp!’