Wombats, alcohol and beds

warsteiner macroSo that pretty much sums up last weekend, thanks to German unification day, that started on Thursday night with a trip to watch The Wombats live.

Scousers singing…German beer – What more could a man want.   Apparently he would want Calvados aswell as the beer….before the frickin’ gig.   He would also want to be fashionably late…say..oh I dunno 30 minutes to an hour and a bit long show!! (Thanks Z)

He might also like to take his life in his own hands by doing terribly stereotypical German accents on a train filled predominantly with Germans…   At the gig, this theoretical man may decide that purchasing a T-Shirt was more important than purchasing a T-Shirt that has the slightest hope of fitting and would also be somewhat disturbed to think he saw his daughter on more than one occasion during the gig.   There may be some showing off on the train back, in front of a group of 14 year old German kids who were clearly of the cool bunch as they spoke English and had aquired a bottle of white wine…classy.   There was quite possibly a water fight, Z stripping and doing press-ups on the bar in O’Dwyers, a close encounter of the M kind and an arrival home of around 5am.

So that was Thursday.   Friday was spent in rapid recovery mode where lots of vitamins, coffee, tea, water and very little food were consumed.   Until around 10pm when it all began again.

Friday was a bad night for me, when the usual shots started to arrive….they were Jagermeisters…my alternative option was Glennfidich, which meant I had little choice but to drink the Jagers.   J bought 2, M bought 2, P bought 2..I tried to turn it around and bought Apfelkorn…but to no avail, the Jager had already taken hold.   I distinctly remember S asking if I was going to the Club Keller….I remember saying yes and I also remember that it was around 03:30 at the time.   The next time I saw a clock, it was 06:30 and there was an interesting note on my computer…

Cue waking up at 08:00….drinking a pint of water….feeling instantly drunk again and going back to bed.   11:00 and I awake to the realisation that I have arranged to borrow the car from Z for a trip to Ikea to pickup my bed.   I have been waiting quite some time for it, and am now officially a grown up again.   No longer do I sleep on a mattress on the floor..although since Saturday…I get a bout of vertigo whenever I get into bed.   After Ikea, I swore there would be no drinking that night…until I remembered the planned evening.   So I thought to myself, I know…shandy (Radler)…that’s the ticket…I will drink Shandy and all will be fine.   So imagine my surprise at walking into Sch??ne Aussicht…and ordering a jug of beer…with straws…. apparently my willpower and decision making skills got together and decided that I was wrong in my earlier preference and that they would get me shitfaced to punish me.

I do remember a fantastic birthday cake that A made for N…that N was looking for a birthday shag, but she settled for a Turkish Pizza…and no, that isn’t slang for anything sexual….I don’t think anyway.   I was chastised for saying congratulations to someone else before their birthday actually started…damnable foreign cultures.   I spent a long time talking to a guy from Wakefield….which was pretty surreal now I come to think of it.   I kind of remember staggering back home around 04:00, getting a Kebab…taking 2 mouthfuls and throwing it away.   I will never, however, forget how I felt on Sunday….a day where I did not leave the apartment…and survived by drinking coffee, smoking and chewing Ibuprofen/Paracetemol like smarties.

Then, on Monday, with an evening of relaxation planned…JW turns up from Iraq on a flying visit.   Suffice to say I got home around 2 and am regretting it as I write this…I just want my spangly new bed.

Also..is it somewhat dodgy that I got the bed and camera that I have been waiting for…..at the same time?

How was your weekend?

Fun…for the win!

A Quick Fuck with a Well-Greased DwarfSo let’s face it – My social life is pretty good these days.   I have a lot of friends and I live above the best Irish bar in Frankfurt.   Well, I claim that they are all my friends, as they spend most of their drinking lives in my living room…..

My capacity for beer has reached astronomical proportions recently…to the point where I went out for nearly 12 hours a couple of weeks ago and went home sober…..SOBER.   Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t have driven a car – But I felt like I feel when I go out for a single beer.   Now, a few years ago, this would have peaked my young and proud hormone…but that frickin scared me.

That said, it was just a blip and I was merrily wrecked in 2 hours and much less booze a few nights later.   Thank fook for that.

For a long time now I have been the sterotype stay indoors geek.   I don’t really know why I did it…I certainly had plenty of excuses for it, but I am out more than I am in…exploring Frankfurt, meeting with friends.   My PC is a glorified TV now with added internet surfing.   Hence the reason for the blog posts being relatively few and far between…

The best thing is, I am enjoying it.   Don’t get me wrong, it is nice to have a refuge sometimes…but living where I do, it is a rare weekend when the doorbell isn’t ringing or the phone isn’t going.

I just realised that this post totally undoes my healthy post, but I am determined to maintain the balance of considerable drinking prowess AND lose some weight/get healthy.

I think the best thing about the Anglo is that it is one of the few bars left in the world (that I know of anyway) where you start off in a group and end up in an entirely different group by the end of the night, having spoken to everyone in the bar at some stage.   Don’t mistake that for the bar being full of regulars either, sure regulars exist (I am case in point), but the atmosphere is something else.   The bar staff are superb, the music is great…I don’t really need to comment on the beer and the shots are dangerously good.   Plus it shows the football.   This bar just has it all.

I do go to other bars and places fairly often, but the phrase “All roads lead to the Anglo” is pretty much true.   Everyone ends up there at some point during the night.   It helps that it stays open until 5am I suppose :)

Frankfurt seems to have a ‘Fest of some description almost every week and they all center around drinking copious amounts of beer…..I am sure there is some culture thrown in there somewhere to these things…but seriously…beer.

Like this weekend they have arguably their biggest Fest, absolutely huge, different music being played on various stages all over the place.   Tens of thousands of people.   I arranged to meet everyone at a Brazilian Cocktail bar…let’s just say they were pouring generous measures.   Many different drinks were consumed, then we made the mistake of heading into the main area to find somewhere else – Spent 45 minutes getting shoved along and ended up at the Anglo to get trollied there instead….

My current fave Anglo tipples are (in no particular order)

Licher Pils…German beer – Genius
Springbok – Green minty shot thing
Baby Guinness – Looks like a Guinness, tastes like nectar of the gods
Caramel Vodka – Made by the fine barstaff themselves :-)

I will not under any circumstances drink JaegerMeister…that is just an alcoholic Benolyn cough medicine and I want no part of it….there are very few drinks in this world I will run away from, jaeger is one of them…especially if some numpty decides to do Jaeger Bombs with my beer…MF!

Most of these things are consumed with monotonous regularity and most evenings finish at around 6am…often later if people fancy the few minutes it takes to walk to the Club Keller.   Germany, where 24 hour opening hours actually means something :)

This is another one of those rambling..go nowhere posts. (I know, they all are right?).   Just an unashamedly happy post about my recently adopted social life.   I had heard good things, so decided to give it a try…

Interesting thing happened on Saturday night – Someone who I don’t know that well came to the bar at some point, and was trying to pull a friend of mine…who ran away (possibly screaming) at the first opportunity.   I decide that I have had enough and make to say goodbye and go home….where this person stops me and very pointedly says “I am not going upstairs with you for a quick shag”

Either the worst pickup line in the history of the world, or she remembers our conversations a damn sight differently than I did.

Alcohol is bad


Dog or Hydrant? (feat. SP fails again)

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…


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

Social Networking?

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 :-D

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..


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 8-O ”

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”


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


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

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.


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

SP…the true spirit of Christmas

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?

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

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 :D

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 :D

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?!?

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 ;) 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 :-p ), 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….