Tag Archives: beer

An Overheard Secret

30 Aug

There was a boy who joined my school at the start of the term as we moved into Lower Sixth Form. As he had not been at our secondary school from years 8-11, along with the fact he was socially awkward (plus shy, a geek, wore glasses, had big teeth, loved Freddy Mercury and drama), meant he was an easy target for the bullies/’cool’ kids. For the first couple of weeks of term, he’d be at the receiving end of most of their ‘practical jokes’; and the other new members of class would join in, as if to distract from the fact that they were new as well.

Nathan was his name, but he was soon known by all as ‘Twaz’ (bizarrely because he once said ‘‘twas’ instead of ‘it was’) and then this was lengthened to ‘Twazim Akram’ once it was discovered that he liked cricket quite a bit.

It just so happened that Twaz was on my school bus, and we soon developed a bit of a friendship. I’d chat to him in the mornings on the way to school, and stop and talk to him if we crossed paths walking to lessons. On numerous occasions I’d go and chat to him during break and lunch times if I saw him standing alone, as he’d only made two friends at the school, who were of similar ilk to Twaz. It wasn’t out of pity either, I found him charming and interesting, and as Twaz’s confidence grew, it became a great spectacle for me watching him give witty ripostes to the lads that tried to mock him.

I’d just like to point out that I was by no means one of the ‘cool’ kids at school , and was in no way taking Twaz ‘under my wing’ so to speak; but I was fortunate enough to be able to flit between the different social groups that develop at school. It meant that I didn’t get the piss ripped out of me for stopping and chatting to Twaz, and the negative attention he received when he first joined the school soon died down.

Three months into term, Twaz came up to me during lunch break.

“It’s my birthday on Friday night and I wondered if you’d like to come round to mine? I’ve asked Dan and Dominic (his other two mates) as well. They’ll be a bit of food and some drink. My parents are away as well. You don’t have to if you don’t want to”

“Sure, why not?!” I replied. I had no other plans, and I liked the bloke, it was fine by me.

“Thanks”, replied Twaz, “I’ll let you know the details later on. Can you not let them lot know please? They’ll only take the piss out of me.”

 I knew who he meant by ‘them lot’. “Course not”, I replied, and with that Twaz walked off.

That afternoon in Business Studies, Twaz came over to my desk. In hushed tones, he told me to get to his for about 7.30pm, and he told me his address. As he lived in the same town as me, I knew where he lived straight away. Then he told me that he was making 3 different curries for us to eat. Result! I fucking love curry!

“I’ll be there, mate”.

“BE WHERE? PARTY IS IT?”. Fuck. One of the twats in the class had heard most of the conversation and began to broadcast it to the rest of the room. He knew the time, the address; every detail, the nosey fucking bastard.

“I didn’t want you lot to know”, protested Twaz, downbeat. “It was meant to be a secret”.

“Awww, bless”. The teasing commenced.

The next two days were rife with rumours that loads of the sixth form were going to turn up to the ‘house party’. Friday came and I let Twaz know that I would still be coming to his, along with Dan and Dominic. All day, people kept winding Twaz up, saying things like ‘See you at half seven’ and ‘can’t wait for your party’. That evening I turned up at his, at he invited me in. Well fuck me; the food looked, and indeed tasted amazing, and there was a lot of beer and wine on offer – he’d pulled out all the stops. Conversation was pretty awkward as I didn’t know the other two that well, but I was glad I had turned up. I’d been there about 45 minutes, when the doorbell went. Twaz went to answer it, and I peered from the living room towards the front door.

FUCK.ME.

There, at the front door, stood about 40 people from the school. The tranquil, social gathering of 4 went to loud , chaotic house party and carnage ensued within minutes. The music was turned up, his parents alcohol cupboard was instantly raided, and despite Twaz and I trying to control the situation, there were far too many already drunk teenagers for us to be able to much to calm their behaviour. In the next hour or so, curry was chucked over the walls and carpets, someone pissed in the microwave, numerous people were wandering around in his mum’s clothes, the back window got cracked, cigarettes got put out on the carpet, a trifle got launched down the stairs – you get the idea; as much damage as possible, teenagers being utter arseholes. Twaz was in tears, and I felt sorry for him, and also guilty because it was our conversation that had been overheard. The destruction only stopped when the neighbour called the police to complain about the noise. I stayed behind to help clear up, but we were fighting a losing battle, and Twaz knew he’d have to tell his parents what had happened when they arrived home the next Sunday. I wished him well and left, wondering to myself how people can be such fucking idiots. I felt sad that not only Twaz’s house been ruined, but his birthday too.

I’ll sum up what happened in the aftermath of this:

–   Twaz got a bollocking off his parents, and got grounded for a month.

–   He invited me, Dominic and Dan around again 3 weeks later when his parents were away again, and whilst he was still grounded. I accepted. When I got to his house, he’d pulled all the carpets up, put Clingfilm over every single wall and locked anything of any value in the garden shed, just ‘in case someone found out about it again’, as he put it.

–   The house party went on to be the making of Twaz. People thought he was a legend and no longet took the piss out of him. A couple of months after the event, he won the school ‘Stars in Their Eyes’ style talent show, with a rousing rendition of Radio Gaga.

Teenagers can be a fickle bunch.

Taste My Special Sauce

23 Aug

As I queued at the kebab van, drunk and bleary eyed, I couldn’t help but drift off into a daze, thinking about how nice it would be to finally get home and climb into bed, snuggling up to my greasy food. There are not many things better than a massive portion of fat riddled food at the end of a drinking session. Licking the hardened burger or garlic sauce from the side of one’s mouth in the morning or waking up with the half eaten kebab having formed some sort of elaborate chin strap on your face, are both things that have happened to many of us.

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by a gentleman who was at the counter in front of me.

 

“Excuse me, but where is my food?”, he enquired.

 

He was softly spoken, and quite posh I thought. He must have been in his mid-twenties.

 

“It’ll be ready soon”, replied the bloke behind the counter.

 

“But I’ve been waiting ages. You’re serving other people before me”, said the posh fellow, now raising his voice slightly, but still maintaining an air of decorum.

 

“No I haven’t”, snapped the kebab van owner.

 

By now, a few other heads in the queue had turned and we watched like spectators at a tennis match, our heads moving from side to side as the posh man and the kebab man exchanged words of “Yes you have”, “No I haven’t”. With the posh chap getting ever so slightly more irritated at the kebab van owner, I wondered what the next move would be in this bizarre exchange.

 

I didn’t have to wait long.

 

The kebab van owner picked up one of the squeezy ones bottles of garlic mayonnaise, and aimed it at the now ‘agitated’ posh man. Without a word of warning, he applied the pressure required to send an arc of gooey sauce into the man’s face, making him take a pace backwards. The attack of garlic mayonnaise did not cease though, and the bottle continued to be squeezed harder and harder; a relentless torrent of white sauce coating the posh man’s face in its entirety. The rest of the queue stood aghast, wondering what the reaction would be to this quite unnecessary attack. The final dribble of sauce left the bottle, dropping onto the cold pavement, and the posh man put his fingers to his eyes and scooped away the garlic mayonnaise. All I could see were his startled eyes, and nothing else.

 

“What was that for?”, he asked. How he kept his calm I’ll never know. His shirt was also covered, and the sauce dripped off his face onto his chinos. He was a mess.

 

“All I wanted was my food, and you’ve squirted sauce all over me. What is wrong with you?”, he said, this time a bit louder, and stepping forward to the counter. With that, the kebab van owner picked up a bottle of tomato sauce, and unleashed another attack. The sauce pounded against the man’s face, and I have to admit I was now crying with laughter. Again, the full bottle was emptied against his face, covering it again. His clothes were now completely wrecked.

 

“WHAT WAS THAT…Fghghh gghhhh ghhh”, he began, his shouts interrupted as a cascade of sauce filled his open mouth.

 

“FOR?”, he managed to spit out.

 

The commotion had attracted the attention of a couple of policemen who came over to see what was happening. They watched, with the rest of us, as the posh bloke berated the kebab man for his antics, pointing his finger at him. It reminded me of a head teacher telling off a naughty pupil. Once his rant paused briefly, the policeman took him by the arms and started to lead him away.

 

“Me? You’re are arresting me?”, protested the posh man, still dripping with sauces. He looked towards the queue, hoping someone would back him up, but most people were either wondering what the fuck had just happened or laughing.

 

Then noticed me laughing, which to be honest, wasn’t hard, as I was almost bent double. It had tickled me somewhat.

 

“Oh you think it’s funny do you?”, he asked, turning his head to look at me over his shoulder.

 

“No, I just don’t think red is your colour”, I drunkenly replied, and I laughed at my own, lame joke. He did not look impressed.

 

And that was that. The posh bloke was led away, and the queue continued to be served as if nothing had happened, with people trying their best not to step in the sauce that had dropped onto the pavement.

 

“Yes Sir, what can I get you?”, asked the kebab man to the bloke next to me.

 

“Where is my food, I’ve been waiting ages?!”, I joked.

 

“Oh fuck off!”, he replied, smiling, and handed me my kebab. I left, content.

A Drunken Announcement

9 Aug

On a night out with a few work colleagues, I ended up a bit worse for wear quite early on in the evening. This resulted in me losing my phone in a crowded bar in the centre of town. I should mention that normally, without the influence of drink, I’m always aware of where my phone, wallet and keys are, but the more I drink, the less concerned I get about them.

 Being as drunk as I was, I began scrambling around on the small dance floor, hoping to find my precious phone. I think at one point, a small circle of people formed round me, thinking I was doing some sort of funky-worm dance. One girl called me a pervert as she thought I was trying to peer up her skirt. To be honest, I probably was.

The search for my phone proved to be fruitless and there was only one thing left for me to try; an announcement to the whole of the bar.

 I made my way up a flight of stairs to where the DJ was playing. He was positioned on a sort of balcony, looking over the top of the dancefloor.

 “Yes mate, what song do you want?”

 “No. I don’t want to make a request. I want to make an announcement”

 “Sorry, you can’t do that”

 “Please, I’ll be quick I promise, this is really important”.

 Surprisingly, he handed me a microphone. I leant across and turned the volume on his equipment right down which pissed him off immensely. Everyone on the dance floor turned to look up at us, and were greeted with the sight of me, microphone in hand, swaying slightly.  I began to speak.

 “Sssshhhhh. Sssshhhhhh. Everyone, listen. I have an announcement to make. Shhhh! SHHHH! You over there, be quiet a minute.”

 By now you could have heard a mouse fart. I was doing well. Then a couple of blokes over by a fruit machine started talking to one another.

 “Oi. You two. You as well, I need everyone silent. Right, now I have your attention, I need you all to do something. I have lost my phone. What I’m going to do is ring my number and I want everyone to listen out for it. Whoever finds my phone will be treated to drinks for the rest of the night. First I need a volunteer”

 The DJ then tried to grab the mic from my hand.

 “I won’t be a minute mate. Nearly done”

 I looked down at the people below me and realised that everyone single person in the place was looking at me and it made me very nervous. A few of them had their hands in the air. ‘Why the fuck do they have their hands in the air’ I wondered to myself…’Ahh, yes, I needed a volunteer’.

 “You in the blue top. Have you got a phone?”

 The girl I was pointing at nodded.

 “Ok, come up here”

 She came up and I asked for her phone.

 “Right everyone, here we go. Drinks for the rest of the night remember, should you find my phone. Here goes, I’m ringing it”.

 The place was absolutely silent. The DJ was fucking fuming, but I had a crowd on my side now so there was nothing he could do. We were all stood, waiting. I imagined a mass bundle breaking out once we heard my phone, as the people below me jostled to get to it first.

 Then I heard ringing.

 The ringing was loud; my phone was definitely in the building. The ringing was very loud in fact. I felt inside my jacket pocket; there was something in there. My hand reached in, and I pulled out my phone. I started laughing.

 I was escorted off the premises within a couple of minutes.

Rosewater Cocktail

8 Feb

The location was the Falcon pub in High Wycombe on a Saturday night. It was early in the evening and a group of 6 of us were having a few cheap drinks before moving onto somewhere different (and more expensive). I noticed that the table we were sat on had a small vase in the centre of it containing a solitary rose and what I can only describe as dirt and water. I say vase, it was more like a half pint glass; in fact it probably was.

Mike had been on the scrounge all evening. He hadn’t been paid yet and was short on cash, so he was taking drinks from whomever he could get one from. To be fair, he was doing all right, he was getting fairly intoxicated without spending a single penny of his own money. The intake of alcohol soon meant that he needed to nip to the toilet, and I had been waiting for this opportunity since I’d spotted the rose. No sooner had Mike left the table to go and empty his bladder, had I removed the rose from its vase, placed it under the table and put the vase and its contents in front of me. All I had to do was wait for Mike to return. The rest of the group sensed I was up to something and asked me what I was planning, but I said nothing.

I saw Mike ambling back towards us a few minutes later and I put my plan into action. As he got closer to us, I put the vase up against my mouth and tipped my neck back slightly, being careful not to get any of the vile water on my mouth. When Mike was stood right in front of me, I moved the vase away from my mouth quickly and scrunched up my face, as if I’d taken a sip from it.

“Fuck me, that’s strong stuff” I said, putting the vase back down on the table in front of me.
“What is it?” asked Mike, eyes widening as he spoke.
“Some spirit, mate. I just got it from the bar”. The others sat on the table saw what I was up to and began playing along.
“Yeah, I had a sip and I feel pissed already”, added Andy.

Mike had been fooled, I was sure of it and so I offered him the vase.
“DOWN IT, DOWN IT, DOWN IT”, I started to chant and the others joined in, banging on the table for extra effect. Mike took the vase from me and knocked the contents back in one.
As quick as the murky fluid had gone down, it appeared again, as Mike hurled it from his open mouth, covering the table in bile.

“What the fuck was that? It is really strong stuff”, he said, standing dumbfounded with a look of confusion on his face.
“Strong?” I asked.
“Yes, I wasn’t expecting that. It tastes bloody horrible, and it’s got little floaty bits in it like Goldschlager. I’ll stick to what I’m drinking, thanks”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him what he had actually drunk. I know it isn’t the worst thing in the world that he could have had in his mouth (he could have had Bill Oddie’s member, for example), but it is still pretty awful. The next morning I asked Mike what it had tasted like. He described it as ‘slimy vinegar with lumps and bits in it’. Gutted.

Pint of Piss

12 Jan

Andy turned to look at me, his face going slowly crimson. He leant in and whispered in my ear, “Mate, I need a piss so badly. I don’t think I’ll make it to the toilets.”
I let out a laugh and then looked around me. The pub was very busy; it was a Saturday night after all, and the toilets were up a flight of stairs on the other side of the bar.

“Here you go, fill this” I said, handing him an empty pint glass. I could see the doubt run through Andy’s head, but he merely shrugged, took the glass from me and moved it under the table.

“Ahhhhhhhh, that feels so good” he exclaimed as the buildup of urine was suddenly released from his body. Anyone watching would have wondered what the fuck he was doing. He was sat hunched over at the table with both hands hidden from view, with orgasmic expressions etched over his face. I wondered if he’d get kicked out for having a supposed social wank. Twenty or so seconds later, his job was done.

“What shall I do with it?” Andy asked me.

“Drink it, it’s probably all alcohol anyway” I joked.

Unfortunately Andy wasn’t that stupid. Instead he just placed the glass back on the table, where it stood proudly, just looking back at us. Despite my protests, Andy wouldn’t take it elsewhere and so it was up to me to move it.
As there were quite a few of us out on this particular night, we were split over two tables. I decided that the pint of piss should sit on the other table – it was putting me off my drink.
I picked it up and it was still warm. This made me feel a bit sick, it was almost as if I was touching Andy’s piss. Luckily, I only had a short distance to travel, and I placed the glass down on the other table. Everyone sat there turned to look at me as I did so and all I said was ‘No-one bother drinking that’. Then I returned to my seat, and watched.

“Thanks mate” said Andy, “I didn’t want that there either, it fucking stinks”.

“I still can’t believe you actually did that” I replied.

As we chatted we kept glancing over at the pint of piss, and it remained in the same spot, untouched. The rest of the group were quite oblivious to it, and if was getting surrounded by empty bottles and other pint glasses as they knocked back their drinks. About 45 minutes after I’d put the glass on their table, the inevitable happened.

Warren was quite drunk and looking for something to whet his whistle. The bar was crowded so he scanned the table for anything he could chuck down his throat. Being almost full to the brim, the pint of piss instantly caught his eye.

“Who does this drink belong to?” he asked the rest of the table.

“No one, he just left it here” Mike replied, pointing over at me.

Warren clamped his hand around the glass a took a huge gulp from it, just as I was in the midst of shouting ‘NOOOOOOO!!!!’

I was too late. I watched in horror as Warren swallowed.

Amusingly, he then slammed the glass back down on the table, shouting “Fuck me! That tastes like piss!” It was too much for Andy, who was now bent double from laughing so hard. Warren saw that he was in hysterics and marched over, with the pint of piss in his hand,
“Is this yours?” he muttered, quite calmly for someone that had just swallowed his mate’s urine.
“Yes, sorry Warren” Andy replied sheepishly.

What came next still makes me smile. Without warning, Warren tipped the rest of the piss straight over Andy’s head, before gently placing the empty glass back on the table, spinning on his feet and meandering back to whence he’d came. Andy sat where he was, silent with a shocked expression. At first he was open mouthed, but he quickly closed it as his own urine cascaded down his face. Eventually, he got up and without saying a word, headed to the toilets so he could dry off under the hand dryer.

To his credit, he did stay out for the rest of the night, despite smelling like a stale tramp. Every so often the unmistakable tang of piss would catch my nose and I’d turn around to see Andy approaching and I’d laugh as people we didn’t know fought with each other in an effort to get out of his path. Andy was undeterred by it all.

“I only smell off piss, at least I didn’t drink it”, he’d say.
And I suppose he was right, really.

A Guide to Princes Risborough. Part II Pubs

15 Jul

If you’re ever in the vicinity of Princes Risborough and think ‘Oh Lord, whatever am I going to do with myself’, rest assured they’ll be something pretty darn amazing for you to get up to in this vibrant and joyful town. A vast amount of pubs litter both the high street and areas outside the town centre, and always offer a warm and friendly atmosphere. Here is a brief rundown of the best places to go and the best times to visit:

The Whiteleaf Cross – Situated next to Princes Fish and Chip Shop in the heart of the town, the Whiteleaf Cross is undoubtedly one of the more popular pubs for locals. With a trendy, almost pretentious, garden area, the pub is a hit with local hi-flying estate agents and tradesmen. Two TV screens make this pub an ideal venue for watching any sport screened on terrestrial television, providing there isn’t a darts match on or someone playing the fruit machines. Come winter, the table in front of the open fireplace is often fought over, as locals look to top up their tans from the scorching fire. The cuisine, like the garden, is quite trendy, but at the same time ‘studenty’. The classic fish finger, bacon, cheese and red onion sandwich is a must have experience for anyone who decides to visit, and the nachos el grande is extremely filling, with 5 packets of minced meat used in every serving.
A Friday night is the best time to visit for drinks, with clientele young and old drinking in harmony. On a Saturday night, many customers seek pastures new when 9.05pm arrives, as they head out across the road to catch a bus out of town, so if you want a quiet weekend drink, visit then.
A great choice of bar snacks are available (mini sausages are a particular favourite) and tea and coffee are also served.

The Whiteleaf Cross sponsored by Ian Brown
A red car parks in a disabled space for a laugh

The George and Dragon – This pub has had more cosmetic enhancements than Jordan, and seems to change owners every fortnight. The current owners have done a splendid job on the appearance of the place, that was previously French owned. I haven’t had a drink in this pub since it reopened, and I am skeptical of ever going in there again after it took me 3 hours to leave one night (my shoes were stuck to the floor). Having said this, the karaoke on a Sunday night is always a good way to end the weekend. The garden area is quite substantial and is a great place to watch people walking to and from town.

George and Dragon Vintage Sign
The George sign sways in the wind like the drunks who stagger out of the pub

The Bell – As the only pub in town to have Sky TV, the Bell is popular for all football lovers. A friend of mine and his father recently found themselves in this pub one Saturday Afternoon as they wanted to watch a football match. When they asked for food they were told, ‘We don’t serve any, but you can go to the Esso and buy a sandwich ,and eat it in here if you like’. I’m not sure what’s worse; the fact that the pub turned away custom, or that my friend actually consumed an Esso sandwich. The Bell also has the benefit of a pool table if you want to get hussled, and the garden is spacious. Anyone who likes to risk drink driving will be happy to hear that the car park is almost as big as the pub.
Popular with late night stragglers as it remains open later than the other pubs, the Bell is ideally situated across the road from a kebab van. Chips, cheese and a punch in the throat? Yes please!

Looks can be deceiving
The Bell sign practices its pom-pom routine

The Bird in Hand – A small but perfectly formed pub, the Bird is the Wee Jimmy Krankie of Risborough Public Houses. The Sunday roast dinners are legendary; bigger than the average child. The outside area is probably the biggest in the town, and there is also a comfortable, sheltered smoking area. There are often a number of deals and promotions on, so you can be sure to grab yourself a meal for £1, but it is worth it. This pub is situated close to Princes Risborough train station for anyone looking to visit, and it’s vast popularity with the more mature residents is clear to see; the local off licence has recently closed down. Another pub with a good selection of bar snacks, with Cheese Moments a favourite. I’d also recommend the Bird in Hand burger, which has more things in it than Jodie Marsh does on a Saturday night.

The Bird in Hand: Handy
I like how the neighbour has matched their window shutters to the Bird sign

So, there you have it. A brief summary of the happening pubs in the town. If they aren’t enough to persuade you to visit the town, then I’m not sure what is…

%d bloggers like this: