Saturday afternoon - 1st October - 28 degrees outside in the burning sunshine, I know, but let's not question it, eh? Decamping to a friend's flat in a couple of hours to meet up with other nutters in order to drink beer, eat takeaway and watch Dr Who...
Thenceforth into town (luckily the flat is actually in the centre of town so this involves, er, going downstairs) where more friends will be met and much more alcohol consumed, no doubt in several establishments... later still, avoiding the numerous grunting semi-evolved hominids intent on violence, we'll make our way to some form of dancing venue, consume still more alcohol and 'dance' for a bit.... I will attempt, probably half-heartedly, to avoid the brain-shredders known as Jagerbombs (ohhh, but they taste so good... and have the effect of class A drugs... not that that has anything to do with it of course. Heh)
One thing which always happens to me around this point in the evening is that I lose the ability to control any kind of basic device, ie mobile phones... there is almost always a point where someone goes awol and the cry goes out "Capt! Call Dave, find out where he is!" and after fumbling incompetantly with my phone for a couple of minutes, calling a couple of people who are asleep miles away, taking a photo of my left leg and a video of my crotch, I have to hand it over to someone else. That's normally when the missing person walks up and says "I was next door, been calling you for the last 10 minutes"
Probably then back to the flat, assuming gravity allows us, where we will talk utter bollocks for a while before making our merry ways homeward into the Sunday dawn. Couple of hours kip and out into the sunshine again (who am I kidding here?) and who knows, a lunchtime pint or three...?
Well, that's the general plan, that's how it usually goes, things don't always happen as hoped though... updates to follow... if my brain still functions...
Cheers!
POST-MATCH REPORT :
Hmmm. After a confusing episode of Dr Who, during which the dog tried to die, the indoor badminton began
Once that and guitar hero was completed (yawn) we shuffled into town, saw some fighting, danced like sweaty fools and the night nosedived into the usual incomprehensible stupidity
Crashing finally occurred around 5am. Apparently we had a good time, but don't ask me, I wasn't there, I know nothing, there was no traffic cone, nobody shouted "CHUTNEY" at a horse and the gerbils will be absolutely fine. Once they find their way out of the trumpet.
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Saturday, 1 October 2011
Badge of Evil
In the early 80s badges were big. Big badges. We all wore badges. They acted as proof of identity, confirmation of which particular tribe one belonged to. Mine were worn with pride on jacket lapels, jumpers, coats, even hats. And they were all terrible. I recently found an old bag of badges, and here are a few :
Firstly, the silly badges - specifically worn so that young ladies would approach, peer closely at them (thus getting within sniffing distance) and exclaim "Ha ha ha, brilliant, what an amazing sense of humour you must have, will you sleep with me?" This, of course, never happened.
Then there were the band badges - obviously designed to attract like-minded fans, and young ladies who would check out the badges and exclaim "Wow, you're into -insert band name here- , what a discerning taste in music you must have - fancy a shag?" This never happened either, quite possibly my choice of bands had a fair amount to do with that...
And finally the desperately obscure badges, usually connected to music but consisting of strange symbols culled from album covers or band logos which only the most fervent fans would recognise, thus absolutely guaranteeing that you'd get laid at some point due to the obvious deep thought applied to your badge-wearing... nope, never happened...
I never wore political badges. I didn't know what most of them even meant. It was a simple world I inhabited, and pretty damn sexless. Couldn't understand why at the time, but it's all so clear now...
Ahh, hindsight...
DAMN YOU BADGES!
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Firstly, the silly badges - specifically worn so that young ladies would approach, peer closely at them (thus getting within sniffing distance) and exclaim "Ha ha ha, brilliant, what an amazing sense of humour you must have, will you sleep with me?" This, of course, never happened.
Then there were the band badges - obviously designed to attract like-minded fans, and young ladies who would check out the badges and exclaim "Wow, you're into -insert band name here- , what a discerning taste in music you must have - fancy a shag?" This never happened either, quite possibly my choice of bands had a fair amount to do with that...
And finally the desperately obscure badges, usually connected to music but consisting of strange symbols culled from album covers or band logos which only the most fervent fans would recognise, thus absolutely guaranteeing that you'd get laid at some point due to the obvious deep thought applied to your badge-wearing... nope, never happened...
I never wore political badges. I didn't know what most of them even meant. It was a simple world I inhabited, and pretty damn sexless. Couldn't understand why at the time, but it's all so clear now...
Ahh, hindsight...
DAMN YOU BADGES!
.
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