I got a parking ticket on Friday for leaving the motor on a single yellow line. It was 8:08am and I was bang to rights so I stumped up the £35 fine when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't done anything stupid for a quite a long while, whereas I used to have a habit of doing stupid things all the time.
Slip of the tongue
I really hadn't planned on being sick on her. Drinking a pint of what tasted to me like Domestos wasn't on my schedule either, but the bar at Schooners was chocka with sausage and I didn't have time to stand around waiting another 20 minutes to be served something that wouldn't be better suited to cleaning toilets, and seeing it was nearly closing time anyway, I drank the bleach. Unsurprisingly, it tasted disgusting. I went over to the foyer, handed the girl at the counter the ticket stub in return for my sheepskin, opened my mouth to thank her, but instead of words, sick came out. Quite a lot of it. Most of it all over her.
Birthday suit
AC Delco were a fine football club to play for. It was with a sense of pride that I pulled on their green and white hooped jersey. So how will I be remembered by the club? For a fine glancing header that put Delcos a goal up against Fleetlands? Or maybe for a swashbuckling performance in a satisfying win over Co-op Sports, down in
darkest enemy country? The answer is neither of those things. AC Delco remember me for one night. One of those dubious fund raising nights when they invite a couple of strippers who behaved like they're on the set of Caligula.
I can't remember how I got caught up in it all. I've just got one of those faces I suppose. Once my clothes went missing and my view of the clubhouse ceiling was replaced by a pair of bare arse cheeks, I knew I was in a spot of bother. For all intensive purposes what the two of them were using on each other was a dildo. The 7:27 to Clapham junction would be a more accurate description. Thankfully, their inflation device failed to stir my old chap. If there's one thing I know it's that if you're given a hand job by some stripper in the club house in front of your mates and their dads, no good will come of it.
Warm waters
Travel gives a man a chance to broaden their horizons, experience new cultures, and understand a different people. Or you can just piss around and get drunk every night like I did in Honduras. Scuba Diving didn't appeal to me, but then anything that required any more responsibility than breathing didn't appeal to much either. Plus I didn't want sharks to bite chunks out of my face. But seeing as I'd come all this way I thought I ought to try something new. Which means a girl bullied me into it by being nice looking.
After several fairly unsuccessful practise dives, we returned to the surface. I'd drunk a significant amount of rum the night before and by now it needed to escape. This girl was struggling and like the decent bloke I am, I helped her to the boat. By this point I could hold it no more and as I held her steady at the boat's hull, released a long hot golden stream over her wet suit. Which shows you shouldn't always blame the Gulf Stream for a warmer Atlantic.
