Stag don't

There are certain rules which apply to Stag do's.
1. Get drunk
2. Get a stripper
3. Get the groom tied to a lampost
4. Get a curry
5. Get home alive

I went to a Stag do the other week. We ticked off rules 1, 4 and 5. Sadly, the nearest thing to a stripper was when one of the party allowed his arse crevice to become visible when he bent down to pick up his fag. The lampost thing was a non-starter due to a lack of rope/gaffer tape/cable-ties/Rapunzel's hair.

However, we triumphed on the curry front. Until we began singing. We had been drinking for around nine hours and thus, after a fine meal, we decided to impress the other diners with our dulcet tones.

This video clearly demonstrates are 'barbers shop quartet' style of singing. You'll obviously recognise it as an acapella version of Eminem's moving ballad 'Stan'.

Hankies at the ready.

A quickie

I've had a very long and tiring day so this is a very quick post. The posh do was very posh and the booze was fine and varied. Suffice to say, I didn't look like Fred Astaire at the end but I wasn't drunk, just mildly knackered. Right now however, I'm strongly knackered so I'll tell you about the posh do tomorrow.

Knackered or not.

Eurovision - flying the flag

A poor quality video to reflect the poor quality of Eurovision. Which is what makes it so great. Although all the bloody Eastern bloc countries voted for each other and somehow a truly crap song, sung by a sort of female Ronnie Corbett managed to win. Our boys and girls finished a magnificent second from bottom but at least the vast array of Euro-food and booze was worth it all.

What the hell is 'halva' anyway?

Quizzical pub

I love pub quizzes. Last night, my wife and some chums gathered our collective brains together and headed off the nearest hostelry from some oh-so-British entertainment. The joys of pub quizzes are many. Not least the customary self-importance and appalling microphone technique of the quizmaster, or 'Dave' as he is usually known. In this case 'Dave' was actually 'Nick' but he didn't fail to deliver.

The whole evening was littered with endless explanations of the scoring system, how the ten minute break would work and debates on whether or not you got a quarter of a point for 'Lake Lucerne' in the final, super-complex question. Nick delivered all of this in what can only be described as a 1970's British Rail platform announcement style. Thus, everyone had to possess the ear canal of a bat to determine what the bloody hell he was saying.

The questions were the usual mix of geography, music, literature, sport and children's daytime telly. There was even a photo round which consisted of a superbly low-quality photocopied sheet containing images of various, er, famous people such as President Roosevelt, Scarlett Johannson and er, Judy Finnigan. We got 9/10 in that round and overall we came a very creditable 3rd out of, well, well, at least eight teams.

And here are a few of the exciting questions we faced:

Who slew the Minotaur? Yes, it was of course - Thessius
In the nursery rhyme, who lost her pocket? Aah, it was Lucy Locket
In which country is the steepest street in the world? It's New Zealand (Baldwin St- Dunedin)
If you study Orology, what do you study? Mountains innit

Well, there you go. See what you missed? Oh and the other great thing about pub quizzes is the beer. So you get to drink and learn at the same time.

Now that's what I call a good night out.

Surprise surprise - part 2

So after the initial stunned shock, our dear pal soon relaxed and entered into the spirit of things. This was due to two factors. Firstly, the fact that all his friends and family were there to celebrate with him. Secondly, beer. This photo was taken a couple of hours after he arrived and I can only assume that he actually knows the little old lady he's holding aloft, like a prize fish. Mind you, the lady in question seems chuffed to bits although, she had been seen sinking a few ales during the evening.

So, all in all, a fantastic night was had by all. The whole thing was organised in total secrecy by his fabulous fiancée who, to be quite honest, employed staggering amounts of deceit to keep the party a secret. All for a good cause though! During the evening I had the chance to enjoy some bopping on the dance floor. Seeing me dance is like watching your dad on the dancefloor at a wedding. Suffice to say, I always draw looks of amazement and awe as I gyrate, groove and grind. If you have ever seen David Brent's famous 'dance' scene in The Office, you'll get the idea. My wife has a different approach. She dances like an excited child in a chocolate factory, with her eyes fixed at a 45 degree angle, towards the ceiling. Together, we look amazing.

Anyway, back to our dear friend. His actual birthday is on Monday, so he's got the whole weekend to enjoy the partying until the big day arrives. All this for someone who definitely didn't want a party and especially a surprise party. So I'm sure all of my lovely readers will want to wish him a cracking 40th birthday.

Happy birthday Mr M.

Surprise surprise - part 1

We went to our friend's surprise 40th birthday party last night. Objective number one was - surprise. Well, as this photo proves, that objective was most definitely achieved. It's great to see someone who is totally and utterly gobsmacked and lost for words. He admitted to us later that he had absolutely no idea about the whole thing, right up until when he opened the door into the room where all 80 or so of us were gathered.

Result.

Postings, pubs and pies

Ooh my posting is slipping again. Sorry about that. I've got no excuses. Anyway, as I've got your interest I just wanted to say that I've had some nice feedback about the podcast. Now I know it's not the best (yet) but I shall persevere and hopefully you'll be laughing. Or tittering. Or smirking - slightly.

Please let me know if you have any problems listening to the podcast, either on the podcast website or via iTunes. There is actually an old podcast feed on iTunes which I need to try and get deleted. the correct one has the (currently two) most up to date shows on and had a 5 star feedback on there too!

Well, time for some more wine. I'm still savouring the gorgeous salad dressing I knocked up earlier. God I'm a talented individual. In fact I must tell you my recipe for homity pie sometime. It's a classic, old English dish and one I'd never seen in a restaurant until Friday night when a load of us went to a renowned pub for a hearty meal. The food on offer was amazing and the setting is pure, old-fashioned English pub. And no, none of it is fake. It's a truly wonderful setting and still full of locals as well as the 'outsiders' who have come to sample the highly rated food. However, the most memorable thing for me was the appearance of homity pie on the menu. I was so chuffed, although I didn't order it in case it was better than my own version!

So thank you to the The Bear inn at Alderwasley in Derbyshire. It was worth the long journey to get there and any pub that serves food including wild boar and homity pie is alright by me.

Cheers.

Plagiarism!

OK, alright, just leave it will you? Look, blogging ain't easy. You have to think of someting to write nearly every day and in my case I have to try and make it amusing too. So I'm under more pressure than a bloke with his finger stuck in a hole in the Hoover Dam. So sometimes, just sometimes I have to resort to a bit of plagiarism (the unauthorized use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work) in order to deliver to my readers. Although, as I'm admitting my cheating it's technically not plagiarism. Just borrowing. Sort of.

Anyway, a dear chum of mine (who used to have a chiselled jaw but it's filled out a bit now) sent me a rather amusing email. Now I truly, hardly ever forward on emails (especially the ones that have already been forwarded 87 times and every single person who's sent it onwards has left all the addresses and other crap on from the previous sender and the one before and ... and ...) so I've only borrowed this because I reckon it's both amusing and witty - unlike all my posts thus far.

So, without further ado, here it is:

Things that are difficult to say when you're drunk...
a) Innovative
b) Preliminary
c) Proliferation
d) Cinnamon

Things that are VERY difficult to say when you're drunk...
a) Specificity
b) British Constitution
c) Passive-aggressive disorder
d) Transubstantiate

Things that are DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE to say when you're drunk...
a) Thanks, but I don't want to sleep with you.
b) Nope, no more booze for me.
c) Sorry, but you're not really my type.
d) No kebab for me, thank you.
e) Good evening officer, isn't it lovely out tonight?
f) I'm not interested in fighting you.
g) Oh, I just couldn't - no one wants to hear me sing.
h) Thank you, but I won't make any attempt to dance, I have zero co-ordination.
i) Where is the nearest toilet? I refuse to vomit in the street.
j) I must be going home now as I have work in the morning.

Next time - Original content! Subject to creative ability.

Getting fruity

In response to my recent post about what to do with my pears, I had a winning suggestion. Obviously I could have chosen the 'steamed pears with pheasant and roast parsnips' or 'glazed pears with wild rasperries and devon cream' but there was only one clear winner. One kind respondent suggested chucking the pears in with a load of booze and just necking the lot. Subtle? No. Fun, easy and morally reprehensible? Definitely.

10/10

Mama mia, it's murder!

I'd never done a murder mystery until last Friday and thought they always sounded a bit rubbish. Well how wrong I was. Oh yes. The whole idea was that we were in Little Italy, New York in 1995. Pepi Roni (Pepperoni, geddit?) had been killed and we were all gathered at the family restuarant to discover 'whodunnit'.

The thing is, you have to stay in character all the time. As you can see from the photo, I made an extremely convicing Italian gangster (Rocco Scarfazzi) along with my 'fiancee' - Tara Misu (genius, that one). The rest of the 'cast' were Mama Rosa, Angel, Marco Roni (they get worse) and the lone Frenchman - Bo Jolais (dear God).

The evening consisted of listening to a tape (it's a very old murder mystery game), reading your characters' speeches and acting your nuts off whilst attempting a convincing accent. The accents were, mostly, appalling. The most fantastically abysmal of these was delivered by my father-in-law who was playing Marco. His accent lurched from one bizarre vocal extreme to another as he butchered the Italian accent, then the New York accent and finally a mish-mash of Welsh and Pakistani. A triumph of enthusiasm over ability.

As it was an Italian theme, we had lasagne, Italian wine and Tiramisu. As the alcohol flowed, the accents became worse and the whole thing descended into a boozy chaos. Finally we discovered (after all accusing each other with varying levels of aggression) that Bo Jolais was the murderer. None of us actually guessed it was him as we'd been so overwhelmed with information, mis-information, wine, poor acting and gargantuan amounts of lasagne that our feeble brains were on the verge of a meltdown. Brilliant.

So, Bo 'dunnit' and we all had a cracking night. I looked the part with my suit, hat, fake cigar and obligatory violin case and loved every minute. In fact I never realised that cold-blooded murder could be such a laugh.

I guess you really are 'born and then you die'. Capiche?

Profeshinul Drinker

There's a bloke I work with who's a professional drinker. Now you've probably just conjured up an image of a haggard, leather-faced, bleary-eyed old alky. But you'd be sorely mistaken. The really amusing thing is (and he won't mind me saying this) is that he actually only looks about 15. I kid you not.

To prove the point about his youthful looks, he was recently on jury service. During a break in proceedings, he popped into to town to buy some food. As he was exiting a shop he was approached by a police officer who asked him why he wasn't in school. He replied, stating that the reason he was not in school was because he was twenty six years old.

So, back to his professional drinking. Although he has a home and a wife, he also has a second home. The pub. But he doesn't just have a drink or two in there, oh no. He pretty much stays as long as he wants and he has even slept over when the thought of a long and arduous ten-minute taxi ride home was too much. Better still, he sometimes serves in there as well. I remember him serving me several times one evening and then resuming his drinking once he'd poured my pint. Brilliant!

Now don't get me wrong. He's no alky. Well only as much as you or me ... maybe a teeny bit more but the thing is, he does it all with such laid-back style. You have to admire him. And the best bit? Yes, he has a bar tab. I've never in all my life managed to get a tab (you know, an account) at a pub. For that alone, he gets a gold medal for professional drinking.

Cheers to that.

Oh happy, happy, joy joy

Marvellous. In my last post, depression was my friend due to the incredibly miserable weather. Well, the sun is shining in England and life is good. Agreed, it's still freezing cold, windy and dark by 5pm. However, the sun has been beaming down on my balding head and endorphines have been coursing through my brain like HP sauce through a sieve. As a result I am one happy bunny. Also, my big birthday is only a week away and despite it being a 'big' one, I'm still as excited as a small child at the prospects of presents and beer. Yes, even as a child I would enjoy a pint or two of fine, room-temperature ale. Roll on the big day.

All this excitement has been caused by nothing more than the sun. Isn't that brilliant? Only one thing could upset me now - not getting any comments in response to my posts. Well, would you believe it? I have! I'm so chuffed. And what's even better - my valued respondent had actually been listening to my podcast. So thank you so much for your very positive feedback. It's really very much appreciated. One downside - the next podcast will be a few weeks as my free podcast software has 'expired' so I need to actually pay for some new software. But I'm going to re-mortgage the cat and perhaps sell all my clothes in order to pay for it.

Don't despair, I'm not going anywhere.

New Year's Day

Hooray! It's New Year's day 2006. The weather is calm, the streets are quiet and ... in fact, it's just like any other Sunday. So it seems a little strange that there was such revelry and joyful celebration last night. Well, that's New Year I suppose. Wouldn't it be rather funny if we celebrated the arrival of every Sunday like this? It would certainly be horrifically expensive and I reckon, after the first 3 or 4 we'd all be dreading Saturday nights. I'm not quite sure where this particular posting is leading other than to prove that you can make any day 'special' if you truly believe there's a valid reason. Or you're told there's a valid reason.

Years ago, some friends and I decided to have Christmas day in the middle of August. We had a full Xmas dinner - turkey and all the trimmings; crackers; decorations and even Xmas TV shows which we had on video. Now I'm sure the vast quantities of alcohol helped, but we really believed it was Xmas day - depsite the bright sunshine and high temperature outside. And the really strange thing is, it was one of the best 'Xmas' days I've ever had. And it was August.

Makes you think doesn't it?