Am I really so untrustworthy?

sorry-i-cantI need to get serious for a few minutes.  It’s something that I do on here from time to time.

I try to be honest I really do.  I try to help people and give them my real opinions when they ask for them.  Genuine advice, with no agenda (even if it hurts me personally sometimes).

If I say I am going to do something, be somewhere, help someone…I always follow through.

I mean, OK, I did have a few years where I made excuses and didn’t take up invitations…but sometimes you don’t want to do something and don’t want to hurt peoples feelings..that’s OK right?

Normally, when people get to know me, they know that they can rely on my word, my honesty, my commitment.

I don’t lie.  It’s a point of pride for me.  So is trust.  I need to know that I can trust people and it’s important to me that people feel that they can trust me.  I work at it every day, with people in the office and friends at home, to make sure that they feel I can be trusted.  I am often asked for advice,  spoken to in confidence and people do this knowing that I will never betray that confidence.

In years gone by I have been guilty of manipulation.  It’s not something I am proud of, but it allows me a certain level of understanding of when people are trying that with me, or indeed others.

Life is a learning experience, you take what happens to you, what happens to those you care about, and you make things better for you and your loved ones.

I have a lot of friends and very few enemies.

In short, I am trustworthy and honest, to a fault sometimes.  Someone you can rely on.

So why is it, when I say I am not going out this weekend…


I will state it here once more, I am definitely not going out this weekend.

Well, maybe tomorrow for a couple, but definitely not tonight..

Damn it

Fuck you

The Midget with the Widget…

dwarf_jumping_by_matushyzny-d6nsrp6Ok, so there was no widget and I just wanted a catchy title.  There was however a midget…and so begins an embarrassing tale.  A tale that, surprisingly enough, I have never told the interwebz before.

Picture the scene a young, free and single Dave* is hanging around with a group of somewhat older RAF lads**.  Much to the chagrin of my Dad***…but I digress.  We were regularly found to be going to a Night Club of a weekend for fun and, where possible, hi jinks.

Now, it should be pointed out at this point that the club was in a place called Ashby De La Zouch.  Not, as the name might suggest, somewhere just south of the Dardogne but actually in the far more exotic Leicestershire.

Now for a club in such an upmarket location, it is quite the surprise to discover that there was no dress code.  I know, right?

So, in an effort to stand out, myself and my good friend Craig came up with a series of cunning plans.

Plan #1 – Clothing
We would stand out from the (jeans and t-shirt) crowd.  This involved wearing suits.  It really is amazing what a difference that makes.  Think about it ladies…you are in a club, dressed up to the nines.  Looking good, feeling great and every guy you see is dressed in whatever the early 90’s equivalent of Hollister T-Shirts and Wrangler (hey…90’s remember, don’t judge) was.  Then, in walk two guys that are also dressed to the nines (personally, I would say tens but I guess I am a little biased).  Of course you are going to notice them, maybe even pay more attention to them than the clones wandering around the club.  See…psychology innit.

Plan #2 – Backstory
Now, if you are going to a club like that, dressed like that, it is clear that you are trying to trigger female interest.  That suggests the potential for playing around.  So Craig and I came up with the great idea to be interesting each weekend.  We would pick an accent (for we are both talented in that area) and then pick a job that we could make shit up about.  Weird when most people would have been quite impressed that Craig was a serving British Airman and repaired jet fighters for a day job.  It would probably have just been easier for me to “work with him” and that would have been that.  But that wouldn’t have been fun enough…so we made shit up.  I absolutely can’t remember all of them, but we were (in no particular order):-

Scouse Firemen (duh!), Scottish Oil Riggers, Cockney SAS Servicemen, German Footballers, Irish Vetinary Surgeons, Doctors (recently returned from Ethiopia, thanks Comic Relief for the info on that one)…

Along with various other job and accent combinations that we thought made us all windswept and interesting.  Certainly it made us stand out – Which was the goal after all.

Plan #3 – Cheesy Lines or even Cheesy Non-Lines
“Get your coat love, you’ve pulled.”
“Is that the telephone I hear or are your knickers (w)ringing?”
“Aren’t you tired?” “Why?” “Well, you’ve been running around my head since I got in here”
“I seem to have lost my phone number, can I borrow yours?”

These are just a few of the lines that may or may not have been used.  Adding to that, and I can’t quite believe that I am telling the internet this…to be honest, I will be quite surprised if the internet believes it at all..but it’s a thing…we also used to have a go to “move”.

In the inside pockets of our suits, would be a number of red roses.  The move involved waiting for the object of your lust desires to be sat at a table or leaning at the bar.  You approach, place the rose in front of the lucky (hahhah) lady whilst saying, and this is important, NOTHING.  Don’t look at her, don’t say anything, don’t acknowledge her in any way…then walk away.  You might be surprised at how often that worked.

So, with all of that taken into account, we had reasonable success (as we measured it anyway) and were having a rare old time.  “But where does the midget come into the story” I hear you cry..or at least wonder vaguely.  Well, I am getting to that.

So, we have arrived at the club, suits on and I believe we were German Footballers on tour (please please please don’t judge us, we just wanted to get laid…nothing sleazy :p ).  Craig and I head straight to the bar and order a couple of beers in our best broken English.  Also at the bar, two women and a little further along the bar two guys…OK so maybe 1.5 guys.

The women decide that we would be prime targets, for reasons best known to themselves, and approach us at the bar.  To be honest, we hadn’t even received our pints yet and had been in the club for around 3 minutes, so we weren’t all that ready and/or interested.  You know what it’s like, you have to warm up, get the lay of the land…you don’t pop off shots at the first person you see when there you have a target rich environment ;)

The ladies seem to get the message and head off, which causes both of the guys to sidle up to us.  Whereupon the tiny one proceeds to give me some advice to “stay away” from their girlfriends.  Had the jealous little fecker been watching the interaction (which I can be fairly certain he was), he would have noticed the direction of the interest and our distinct lack of interest.  However, rather than deal with issues in his relationship, he decides to threaten two people who want nothing to do with the girls anyway, even more so now we know that they have boyfriends.  Meh, guys…what can you do?  Amiright?

Fast forward to later in the night and, to be quite honest, a time where Craig and I are a little drunk now.  Dances have been danced, women have been insulted hit on (and in some cases made out with) and generally a fine old time was being had.  There was, however, one constant..well two actually.  Both of the women from earlier just wouldn’t leave us alone.  We would dance on the left side of the dancefloor…so would they.  Mid-dance we would dance across the floor to a new position…they would follow.  Frankly it was throwing us off our game.  To top it all off, we had the Lilliputian equivalent of the Family Guy monkey tracking our every move.






After a while, the diminutive dolt decides that enough is enough.  Both myself and Craig have been pursuing his girlfriend (in reverse obviously) for far too long.  He has warned us once, he shouldn’t need to again.  He decides another conversation is in order.

Craig, it should be pointed out, is at this point at the bar.  I am therefore alone, separated from our little herd of two and ripe for the plucking…or something.  The minuscule moron approaches me in the fashion of a mafioso while his friend stays back to keep an eye on both the situation and Craig.

Aspersions on my parentage were cast, Oedipus complexes accused and other such pleasantries were delivered.  I would say exchanged, but damn if those little dudes can’t speak quickly.  Plus, after trying three or four times to point out that neither Craig nor myself were trying anything and maybe he should consider having a chat with “er indoors” instead of the guys she and her friend won’t LEAVE ALONE, I started just laughing at him.

Now, maybe that was cruel.  Maybe he has been laughed at for his entire life due to his height.  Maybe I undid 10 years of therapy.  Or maybe it was simply the fact that I was clearly not listening to him.

Whatever it was, he was quite severely triggered.

Now you might be thinking, quite rightly, why didn’t I just put my hand on his head so that he would be forced to ineffectually swing wildly while I continue to drink my beer…until he eventually tires and I can just walk away?  Well, I didn’t have any beer (that was why I was alone, Craig was off buying said beverage) and secondly, the pint-sized prick was a lot quicker than I gave him credit for.

This meant that he jumped ladies and gentlemen.  Jumped with such pinpoint accuracy that the top of his head connected with my nose.

My node**** exploded and I was too busy trying not to get blood all over my suit to react.  Things went into slow motion, I turned away to avoid Mr Rocket Boots getting another shot at me.  When I turn I see a couple of bouncers heading my way and Craig (my hero) vaulting over the railing that separated the bar from the dance floor.  They all converge at roughly the same time and luckily for the teensy tosser (or possibly Craig the way things had gone thus far), the bouncers were a step or two ahead of Craig and grabbed him before Craig could do anything.

He was thrown out and the police called.  I get cleaned up and carry on my night.  It was a very good night in the end…and no, I did not go after his girlfriend to spite him, although I was sorely tempted.

So yes, a midget with a distinct lack of widget beat me up in a night club.

Jeebus, why do I tell you this stuff?

* much like at the moment
** not at all like at the moment
***meh, probably like at the moment if I bothered to ask
**** You see what I did there?

Shocking revelations

So, I was sat in the beautiful sunshine with CW a while back, enjoying a fine After 8 Frappiato, (I promise I am most definitely heterosexual….it was hot dagnabit) and we were talking about the fact that I hadn’t had a drink for 3 months or more.  On top of that, I hadn’t had a drink in at least a month or so before that….

I know, right…I will let you get settled back into your seat before continuing.  Make sure you have a seatbelt securely fastened as I can tell you something else…I am not even remotely missing it.

The thing is, a couple of years ago (around the same time that I started this blog..coincidence? you decide), I was out a lot.  sometimes 4 nights a week and I was, to quote the 80’s, “Partying Hearty”.

Not even Englands dire World Cup performance could reduce me to drink..let’s face it, if I was going to be driven to drink based on that, I would have been a raving alcoholic since…well…birth.

Now, let’s check the implied benefits of no alcohol.  Please bear in mind that this list is gleaned from years of research (ok ok, TV, Films…and my Nan!):

  1. Sleeping better
  2. More energy
  3. Getting up earlier and enjoying it
  4. More alert
  5. General feeling of well being
  6. Weight loss

Now, let’s review what I have noticed after the last few months and see what we have:

  1. Sleeping worse
  2. Less energy
  3. Getting up earlier and hating it
  4. Less alert
  5. General feeling of *meh*
  6. Weight gain

That’s right Ladies and Gentlemen, I am in fact “Reverso-Man(tm)” and I intend to reverse the trend (hopefully) by taking up drinking again…in moderation at least.

So beware one and all..the camera of doom will no doubt start making appearances again and my Facebook inbox will once again sing to the tune of “aaargh, you bastard…take that down” and other complimentary messages regarding my photographical prowess.

Camera Related Fun:

  • PM will undoubtedly get rather aggressive for me “always posting pictures of him looking like a dick”
  • Women will borrow my camera to wander around the bar.  It will come back to me with more bra and breast photos on it than ever happens when a guy borrows it.
  • Z will take it to do some cool arty shots…I will look through them the following day, and discover a single down the trousers, crotch shot.  I will never mention this to him in case it is him…or worse, someone else.
  • SK will grin at me when the camera is on him.  This photo will be indistinguishable from any other photo of SK that I have..and will require digital computer forensics to know when it was taken.
  • I may accost random strangers for a photo, based solely on one thing that they are wearing.  This may include groups of guys because one of them is wearing a baseball cap…perched on his spiky hair.  I will definitely play the drunk tourist card to achieve this
  • I will “photobomb” other peoples photos with a strange face (stranger than usual I mean) and probably a middle finger gesture.  I will then claim that it was done for the benefit of NBs collection.  The recipient will most likely not know who NB is.
  • Fake poses in ridiculous positions will be pulled..with the sole intention of taking a photo of some poor soul with really really bad hair/makeup/clothing (or all three)

Dave Being Drunk Fun:

  • I will get drunk enough to speak German for extended periods of time…and then swear to the deity of choice that it was an English conversation.
  • I will start on the shots at some point..these will be Baby Guinness, Sprinkboks or…if CR is around…Sambuca.
  • If GW is in the bar…the shots may include Absynth/Vodka mixers
  • If the shots include Absynth/Vodka mixers…I will be able to provide scientists with the irrefutable answer to the missing link on the following day..simply by recording myself
  • I will be surprised at how little I have spent until the bill is presented.  At which point I will feel eternally grateful for my drunken state
  • I think that it is a fair and reasonable assumption to think that I will try and head upstairs to my old apartment at some point
  • I will, at some point, be stroked by a random woman in the bar (this happens more than it should)
  • I will therefore, at some point, be required to stop CW from ripping the head off said woman
  • I will find this amusing…CW, however, will not

Hopefully, my “reverso-matic nights out diet ™” will kick in shortly after this all starts and I can get back down to 26″ waist trousers and zip them closed.**

Whatever happens, I am sure there will be some good nights coming up.

Fingers crossed I can remember them

** Paraphrased from Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine…enjoy the vid below :)

I knew it…

All medicinal...obviously
Photo by DOS82
Check out this story from the BBC Website VERY IMPORTANT STORY.

Now, as you can probably imagine…when I first saw the headline and the first two paragraphs I was inclined to stop reading…and possibly go for a breakfast beer.   As I am sure most of you did too when you followed the link.

That said, in an effort to look like I actually researched this post thoroughly, I forced myself to read on.   Aren’t you proud of me?   No, oh…get on with it?   Ok…

Apparently, some doctors are saying that alcohol “could” dampen the bodys response to…something or other.   I mean, this shouldn’t be news to anyone, should it?.   Alcohol dampens the bodys response to…well…pretty much everything else you can think of, so why not something medical too.

The problem as I see it though is one of recognition.   If someone is given a load of alcohol in an effort to avoid brain injury caused by swelling….how will you know if it is working.   I have seen myself on Absynth…so I can safely say that I would be relatively indistinguishable from someone suffering a brain injury.

Slurred speech   – Check
Inability to focus on anything other than a cigarette – Check
Unable to answer basic questions about self – Check
Walking in straight lines impossible – Check

I question where this information really came from.   Sounds to me like a bunch of Doctors got together one night on a piss up, noticed that one of their brethren was acting like a head trauma case and, stumbling into the bouncer, got them thrown out. So theybeat him over the head with a subtle, yet readily available, ashtray and noticed the next day that he didn’t in fact have a brain injury.

One of them decided it would be great to write this up and now Chavs all over the world are rejoicing with their pre-breakfast Stella and 20-20 chaser.   The problem with that though is, again, how would we tell?

Also, “too little and there is no benefit, and too much and the beneficial effects are lost“,   apparently this wonderful theory was proved on animals.   Does this not concern anyone else?   I mean, I am not exactly an animal rights activist or anything, but are they really feeding the animals various quantities of alcohol after battering them around the head to induce the type of trauma that our erstwhile (and drunken doctors) accidentally created?   I mean sure, if they are using Guinnea Pigs…fair enough…after all, they are called Guinnea Pigs.   Maybe they could reverse it…let all the little animals have a party, call in some hookers and have a great time…then give them a swift whack on the bonce after they fall asleep…otherwise, where’s the motivation for them to keep signing up?

Oh, and in response to Don Shenkers (Chief Exec of Alcohol Concern) statement of “The fact is, being drunk increases your chances of getting into an accident in the first place.   When judgement’s impaired, we can put ourselves at risk.“:

Duuuuh, we know – it’s just that we also know that one extra beer might just save our life….

Mines an Absynth


Just when you get used to something….

Fixing the Money Pipeline
Photo by ShellyS
…it all comes to an end.

No, no, this is not a maudlin post about breaking up or getting some sort of terminal disease.   I am referring, of course, to my removal from the unemployed masses and placement directly outside them again.   I have indeed gone and gotten myself gainfully employed again.

I am actually rather pleased about it.   Sure, it is an entry level position and doesn’t pay an awful lot more than the money the Arbeitsamt were giving me, but the entry level side of things is causing me a serious amount of joy at the moment.   I won’t have the levels of stress that I had before and this means that my quality of life can improve to the level that I want.

I will indeed be answering phones and logging calls…the very job that I ran a team of guys doing previously.   A “Phone Monkey” if you will…and frankly I like it.   The company seems really good, and, when I get myself onto the shifts I will have time to do private study…they are pretty relaxed and the team that I met on my trial day seem like the kind of people I can get along with and more importantly, work with.

The best news for me, however, is of course the increased opportunity for blog fodder.   Hence why I have yet to (and won’t) name the company.

The last few months have given me a much needed break, a chance to recover from my stresses and didn’t get me too bored – I was (just about) able to get used to having less money around…which means the salary at the new place won’t be a problem to manage and did I mention the lack of stress?   Sure, there will be pressure…it’s a busy environment and has very tight deadlines…but little stress.   No more bringing work home, going in hours early to get things done.

As a certain PM mentioned, I will also be able to drink again (in moderation of course ;-) )

Enough about my re-entry to civilised society.   It was ZS’s birthday the other day, and IP organised a BierBike.   I made a brief mention of this amazing thing before.   16 of us made the short walk to pick up the “bike” and we were on our way.

I must admit, I fully expected there to be substantially more gears and less actual effort to move the thing…it was pretty hefty as it goes.   The beer becomes more of a requirement than tool for getting drunk.   As we got close to ZS’s place, IP made the call to get him outside…the rest of us stopped pedalling and tried to keep 3 tonnes of BierBike quiet.   It would have worked too until, halfway through IP’s conversation with ZS, W decided to shout at us all to pedal more.   Meh, ZS was still pretty impressed…and so began an alcohol fuelled (literally) whistle stop tour of Frankfurt.

I should point out that after 20 minutes or so of pedalling, someone came up with the idea that we should switch seats at each red light…which would give everyone a chance to rest on the non-pedalling seats from time to time…leading to huge screams of REEEEED (if you were pedalling) and GREEEEN (if you were resting) in an effort to change the lights into your favour.

We took in all of the main areas of Frankfurt…including the Red Light district.   That almost caused a problem with our rotation scheme…. ;-)   Also, whilst we got a decent reception from the girls who try to entice you into the strip joints…one particular lady of negotiable affection didn’t take kindly to our rendition of “Ruby” by the Kaiser Chiefs and decided to flip us “the bird” with a snarly grimace type thing on her face.   Again…meh!

It must have something to do with the consumption of alcohol when combined with exercise, but I was wrecked when we got back to drop off the bike…although I like to think it was the 2 shots of Jagermeister personally…honest…no, really!

Rest assured, even with the nightmare of pain and torture that was heading up hill and over bridges, I still want one for my next birthday….only I think there should be a “Birthday Boy Doesn’t Pedal” rule.   It’s only fair ;-)

Men behaving badly?!?

2006AUG270910So the other night, it dawned on me that I am currently starring in my own version of Men Behaving Badly.   I decided to make myself a lovely cup of tea, except when I tried to pour the milk…let’s just say that it didn’t ‘pour’ out so much as ‘glup’.

I head to the fridge to get some more…to find that all I have in there is wine and beer.   No milk.   Being English, I couldn’t possibly drink tea without milk, so I went without and stormed back to the lounge with a glass of water.   I also pause to notice that there is no food in my fridge…none.   Actually, that isn’t entirely true…there was a packet of ham.   Unfortunately, this was now quite far through the development of it’s own life forms, and had achieved moderate technology advances (internal combustion engine and the like…no space travel though).   That, combined with bread that Alexander Fleming would have been proud to extract penicillin from…did not make for a potentially appetising snack.   So, disgusted at this site, I close the fridge door so I don’t have to look at it.   Well, I am not going to be responsible for the collapse of a fledgling civilisation…would you?

On the way home from work, for this was a school night once more, a few of us decide to head to the pub for a ‘swift pint’.   Cue lock-in at the bar and me stumbling upstairs at around 3am.   I remember eating a pack of dried chillis, but chewing them as DS had simpy thrown a pack to the back of his throat and swallowed, and I am nothing if not competitive (read stupid)… I also remember B52s arriving…complete with straws.   Mainly though, I remember that I couldn’t focus the next morning when I woke up.   In fact, I woke up at 07:55.   Trouble is, I am supposed to be at work at 08:30.   I managed to shower, shave, iron a shirt (sort of) and get into a taxi at 08:05…quite impressive.   The problems really started when I got to work and discovered that I couldn’t actually see my monitor…I look across the office at 08:25 and realise that I am literally the only person in at that moment.   Not a good moment for still drunk Dave.

Still, everyone showed up and I managed to (narrowly) avoid falling asleep in what felt like 100 meetings during the day.   I went home and pretty much collapsed.

Feeling fully refreshed the next day, meant heading to the bar after work..because yes, I am that stupid.

Still, it’s Christmas right?   So that’s ok.   Still can’t believe I went to work drunk…or that I still have no food in my fridge.

How was your week?

Oh, and the ham based lifeform launched their first test rocket today.

What are friends for?

IMG_8118Taking the piss and general abuse apparently.   I mean, I know that my usual modus operandi is just that, and I am pretty good at it generally.   I also know that you shouldn’t dish it out if you can’t take it, but still…

On Friday night at the bar, a good and merry time was being had by all.   Much drinking and frivolity were abound as they generally are down in my living room.   The dynamic duo were heading off to warmer climes for a short while, so everyone was in good spirits..and I think it is also fair to say that good spirits were in everyone.

So at some point, I am told that Bohemian Rhapsody has been requested in a fit of Old Skool nostalgia…of course, nostalgia isn’t the reason.   A number of years ago, I got into a comedian called Lee Evans, and he ended his first (I think) live show with Bohemian Rhapsody, and did a “routine” to go along with it.   It was genius and I have never forgotten it.   Fast forward to a few weeks ago and I try and recreate this routine when the song starts playing.   So, on Friday night I am being asked…ney told…that I have to do said routine again.   Here it is for the uninitiated (not me doing it I hasten to add)

Just as I start getting into the actions, I get accosted by a lady of Norwegian extraction, who decides that she wants to slow dance to this…and wanders right through all of my “audience” to grab me.   Being the fine friends that they are, everyone shoves me towards her and thus begins the strangest slow dance in the history of the world.   I am of course, deeply embarrassed but trying to get it over with.   It wasn’t helped by a chant going up…that seemed to get taken up by the entire bar..lead of course, by Z.   I believe it went something like this…”MILF MILF MILF MILF MILF MILF”.   I hope I remembered the words correctly.

Now, having 30 people chanting MILF over and over, and clapping in unison, really doesn’t help with the embarrassment factor and I tried to extricate myself from the situation as quickly as possible.   However, it was like the fight scene in a hollywood movie, everytime I tried to get through the crowd to my cigarettes and beer, I was shoved back towards “she who will forever be known as MILF”.   Resistance was futile, especially when Z started passing over free shots in an effort to “help” me, by saying they were from me.

I have also been informed, by the dynamic duo, that this embarrassing scene was well deserved thanks to my deciding to throw a condom at a couple that really needed to get a room, and inspiring a round of applause at another couple that actually thought that they had found a room.   In my defence….it was bloody funny.

I eventually get back to my beer, and the redness of my face starts to dissipate as the embarrassment leaves me, when I get accosted by a second woman.   Now this rarely happens, so I am only recounting the story for it’s strangeness in relation to how I am generally percieved.   Now, on Thursday and Friday night, there is a woman in the asian woman, with quite a strong face (read jaw)…I was guilty in my mildly inebriated state, of asking people if it was a guy.   All of the women in the bar were convinced that she was in fact a she, so I chose to agree with them.   Anyhoo..a few moments after getting away from “MILF”, I am leaning on the bar to get another beer.   Up walks the asian woman and grabs me for a cuddle…simultaneously telling me that she had seen me the night before, and that I was “Much fun and very funny”.   Being British means it is difficult to accept a compliment, so I return the hug as it looks like she is leaving and mumble a “Thank you” before trying to get back to the important act of beer acquisition.   At that moment she full on kisses me, and sweeps out the door.   Someone said something to me but all I could muster was “I am not sure how I feel about that”.   It goes without saying that I am now absolutely convinced she was a woman…the alternative just scares the crap out of me ;-)

This was also the night where DB was introduced to the joys of my living room, and after a few bevvies, was telling me…every 5 minutes…that it was the best bar he had ever been to.   DS genuinely thought he had pulled SL, despite her telling him very clearly and slowly…to his face..that it would never happen.   DS is also responsible for the best drunk walk since John Cleese did “The Ministry of Silly Walks” in Monty Python…oh, and for actually managing to embarrass Z when we ended up in Club Keller.   Club Keller was actually great on Friday night, it had so many people that it actually reminded me of the opening scene from Blade…I kept looking up and half-expecting there to be showers full of blood ready to pour down on us all.   Also, what is it about Rage Against the Machines “Killing in the name of” that makes a place go insane?   Seriously, properly insane.   There aren’t many songs that are 16 years old that can do that….

Good times

Christmas Market Frivolity

Gluhwein!Feuerzangenbowle, Gluhwein with Rum shots, Hot French (whatever in the blue hell that is), Baby Guinness, Beer, a birthday meet-up, a trip to the Anglo…last night had everything.   Well, except sleep…there was no sleep.

Ok, there was some sleep…but not enough to really qualify as anything more than a nap.   Did I mention I was drunk too?   Because I was…very very drunk.   Never mix the grain and the grape..I think I have said this before…every year I say to myself over and over “Dave, you are drinking Gl??hwein..this is a red wine…this means no beer tonight” and then end up ordering a Pils as soon as I walk into the bar.

Gl??hwein is a wine…wine and beer should never be mixed.   Dave=Mess.

Oh, there may also have been Vodka Jelly.   Don’t judge me.

On a THURSDAY night people….seriously, what the hell was I thinking.   I’ll tell you what I was thinking, I was thinking “Hey, it’s 17:30…I have to meet MK and the rest at 19:30, why don’t I just go straight to the Christmas Market with a couple of the guys from work.   That way I don’t have to mess around, that’s a great idea…borderline genius in fact”

I am easily convinced..especially if I am the one making the argument.   Cue much feuerzangenbowle fun later and I stagger off to meet MK and KH, where we then immediately go back to the feuerzangenbowle stall.   Oh, I may have offered to sleep with MKs Dad…I had good reason though, he had funded the beer for the whole night….so if he takes me up on it….totally worth it :-o

It’s a funny thing, I didn’t realise how bad I would feel.   And it is deceptive too, when I woke up I felt like I had been out on a hard night…but by the time I had showered, shaved and got to the Tram stop to head to work..I was feeling pretty good.   Unfortunately, I am now sat here feeling like crap and writing this in between phonecalls and emails in a vain attempt to stimulate my mind out of near catatonia.

The camera of doom made a brief cameo appearance last night, much to the dismay of PM (SSA) but I seem to recall being captured on video doing my best evil laugh…twice…which was then shared around…and may end up being used as a ringtone…and will definitely end up on Facebook.   Damn you alcohol, damn you to hell.   MKs glasses became community glasses when she took them off to bury her face in Vodka Jelly…people were feeding each other in various ways akin to something you would see in a hotel room…late at night…for 12.99.   All we were really missing was the ring full of vodka jelly and a series of scantily clad, white t-shirt wearing ladies…maybe next time.

Major plus point though of last night was calling my Son on his Birthday…before I got completely ratarsed and discovering that he was wearing the Liverpool shirt that I sent him :-)   It was great speaking to him, and I got to speak to my Daughter too…I miss my kids so much, so even a brief phonecall is always welcome.

Yipes..went all soft there for a second… ah well ;-)

Take my eyes…please!

O?­che Shamhna / HalloweenIn honour of yesterday being Halloween, I thought I would recount for you a tale of abject terror, horrifying intrigue and no small amount of toilet activity.     I would like to say that there were no animals harmed during the events of this fateful night, but quite frankly…anything is possible.

It was a entertaining night at the bar, the locals were enjoying themselves and partaking of many delicious beverages.   Much merriment was being made and the barkeep was in good spirits.   As with all Halloween stories, the tranquility and merriment were to be replaced with horror.   Our heroes were not to know what was to transpire.   Noone could know, if they had…people may have been spared, the bar could have been closed and signs painted on the doors to ward off the evil that was about to leave a trail of destruction through this almost spiritual bar.

When the beverages had started to take hold and peoples guards were well and truly down, she arrived.

Much has been made of witches in childrens tales and moving pictures, but nothing could truly prepare us for what we saw.   Some likened her to golums ugly sister, but our heroes instinctively knew her for what she was…the Sick-ed Witch of the North.   Rumour has it that she was once a beautiful woman, known throughout the land for her beauty and ability to charm young knaves into acting out her every whim.   This storyteller, dear reader, knows better.

She began her trail of destruction and debauchery by beginning what I believe the the modern, liberal person would refer to as a Swingers Party.   Wife swapping a’plenty, with nary a wife to be found.   Entranced by this, certain young knaves were taken in by her witchly ways.   Our heroines, KH and MK were able to resist and sought sanctuary with myself, good reader, for I was there this fateful night.   I offered little protection beyond kind words and the elixir of forgetfulness, but know this my friends, this can be enough.

Whirling through the bar like a sex fuelled hurricane, the witch would stop, grab herself a new knave and suck the life from them through their lips.   Her spells were short lived fortunately, leaving a path swept with the bodies of confused knaves wondering just how that happened.   Her fateful cry of “I want to f*ck you!” will haunt me to my deathbed, and beyond, of that I am sure.

After some time it seemed to quieten, perhaps she had gone, left the revellers to continue her destructive ways somewhere else.   The patrons relaxed once more and all seemed well with the world.

Until the scream.

When the scream came it stopped everyone, rooted them to the spot with fear and panic.   Surely no human could make such a bloodcurdling sound.   Z emerged from the “little knaves room”, but he did not seem himself, something was clearly wrong.   When approached it was clear, that aswell as being made to vomit repeatedly, he was blind!

The witch had trapped her final prey and had begun her incantations to allow her to live for another year, there was nakedness, there was fumbling, groping and dare I reveal to you …. sexual organ movement.   Z may never be the same, although we quickly rallied Mr Jager and Ms Meister to heal him as rapidly as possible…time will tell if his recovery is successful.

To this day, mention of the witch causes fear and panic induced bowel movements.   Others simply weep for what they were forced to endure.

What of myself dear reader?

I simply visit my private “little knaves room” upstairs….and no, I did not ask for her number.

Close encounters..

Stalker.. of the stalker kind.

It is interesting to me what makes people tick.   It is also interesting to me what goes through peoples minds sometimes.

Let me explain…and whilst I do I am aware that some of you reading this might consider this a good thing and others will think of me as an arsehole….you are probably all correct.

I had an “encounter” last Friday night.   It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t sought, it just…happened.   The entire “encounter” lasted under 4 hours from the conversation starting until she left the apartment.   One of “those” nights I suppose (although they rarely happen to me).   I alluded in my last post to a mysterious note that was left on my computer.   The note basically gave me her phone number telling me to call if I wanted to see her again, and then ended with “Thankyou for opening so many doors for me”.   It is this last bit I am confused about.

I don’t recall being particularly chivalrous, and even if I was…there are only 3 doors that are in the way of the route that we took.   Does 3 count as “so many”?   I suppose it depends on your outlook…if you live in a building full of windows and get into your apartment through a catflap…I suppose 3 could be quite a lot.   I tried to think back over the night for any door related activities…I know I opened the pub toilet door an a number of occasions…possibly even on many occasions….but I can say with (some) certainty….I wasn’t with her during my trips to the toilet.   The door to the Anglo is permanently open whilst the pub is serving, and is in fact held open with some kind of futuristic hook device…so I know I didn’t need to open that one.   Clearly we are referring to some form of metaphorical door, which is far too deep for a hangover to deal with…so I did the next best thing and went back to bed.

After waking up in the same amount of confusion, and after spending most of Saturday wondering about doors, I failed to phone her and went out again.   During my evening of consuming “Jugs of doom ™”, I recieved a phonecall from the Anglo….telling me that someone had called to ask if I was there, every hour…for around four hours.   Thankfully, S resolutely refused to give out my number and instead said that they would pass her number onto me.   Having dodged that bullet…I continued with the drinking and thought no more of it.   Again, I failed to call on the Sunday, although this time it was as I was somewhat scared that I might return to my apartment one day and discover a bubbling pan filled with a bunny rabbit that I don’t own.   The situation was discussed on Monday night with JW, where the options were weighed up:

Option 1
Call her..explain that it was a spur of the moment, one night thing.   Apologise if necessary and move on

Option 2
Don’t call her..risk her visiting the Anglo on Friday or Saturday night this week and take the inevitable slap that will head my way at this point.

It was decided in a fit of macho bravado and testosterone/beer fuelled decision making, that I would take the slap.   The reasoning being that it might not happen…and if it did, it might gain me some kudos points.   Let’s face it, the world loves a bastard.   It also stopped me from having to admit that I can’t remember what she looks like.

Then yesterday…I get home as usual after work, check my mailbox and discover a letter addressed to me.   People generally don’t send me letters…well they do, but they are rarely handwritten and are generally asking for money.   That said, I knew immediately who it was from.   Sure enough, it was from my ‘encounter’….again, getting very very deep for someone that knew me for less than 4 hours…and the “me” she met was hammered on copious amounts of German Beer and Jagermeister.

Now I know that it is possible to feel a connection with someone pretty quickly, we have all of us (at some point) been speaking to someone that we feel like we have known for years after 5 minutes.     Knowing these things, however, does not equip me with the tools to understand what is happening here.   How do you form an obsession with someone you don’t know.   I can only think that she is one of those “Superfans” of the Addams Family and has an unhealthy Uncle Fester fixation.

Have you ever stalked or been stalked?   What caused it or how did you deal with it?

Oh…and does anyone want to rent a flat above an Irish bar?   One careless owner…