As it's Friday, this puissant poisson wants everyone to waste their time with a pointless exercise.
This time, I want to hear your true tales of excruciating embarrassment.
I shall begin by disclosing my first-ever date with a girl involved her bringing three friends and then ignoring me all night. Poor little sad fish.
Or, just today, I was asked to find a file for someone and looked it up on the computer records.
I was sifting through a pile of papers looking for one from February 7, 2003, for several minutes before realising TODAY is February 7 and I'd read the wrong part of the computer record.
An office-full of people had been sitting there laughing at me the whole time.
D'oh!
Give me your humiliation, boarders, and we will share in malicious laughter!
The best entry will gain its ruler the title of Undersea Fool at the Court of King Troutman!
- The despotic mutant
Many years ago, when I was a Mouthy Young Comics Upstart, I was in a Glasgow curry house with a group of similiarly obnoxious young know-alls. (This was during one of the old Glascac comic cons.)
Anyway, I was holding forth at great length on my strong opinions on the artwork, talent, and mercifuclly short-lived Comics International column of a certain well-known 2000AD artist who in no way resembled Arthur Ranson.
"Stop kicking me under the table, you stupid twat," I told one of my fellow obnoxious upstarts, before blithely continuing on my discourse.
In was a good five or ten minutes before I realised who was sitting ar the table right behind me.
"In was a good five or ten minutes before I realised who was sitting ar the table right behind me."
Simon Bisley?
Nigel
whilst on board QE2 as a chef i would on occasion get VERY drunk on the ridulously cheap alcohol.
one afternoon whilst wroking away on the sandwich corner, up should come non other then mary. nice old biddy.had been on queen mary then QE2.about 60 or so years old.part of the furniture type.
anyway she says. oh neil you where funny last night.talking to me in the corridor. i just said oh really. whilst the other chefs pushed for more details. she went on to explain how i stood in the corridor having a lucid conversation with her at 3am.
she finished off by reminding me
I WAS NAKED.
much to the absolute joy of the entire brigade who had wandered over to here her tale,.
Heh. If it had been Bisley, I wouldn't be here to tell the tale today.
Bloody enormous he is, with the temperament to match.
another QE2 one. worse things happen at sea.not me though.
whilst working on board.they changed the ordering system to a computer based one.circa 91/92
you have to be so careful with this. unit of measure playing a large part in any order you make.
the typical five day cruise would see the use of some 60 sacks of rice or 1800 kilos. so for ten days you need to have enough plus say 10%.so 2000 kilos.
the store keeper ordered his rice. all 2000 of it.
he also ordered the tabsco sauce for the oyster night.so he got 24 of what he thought where cases of the stuff.
only he didnt.
we stood on the dock side when the delivery guy turns up with 24 bottles of tabsco sauce.and apologizes for not being able to complete the rice order.he points to the container and says i could only manage 1600 bags sorry about that.
1600 bags = 48000 kilos of philipone rice.
the look of shock and horror was great. the chefs fell around laughing.the store keeper.never lived it down.
i got plenty of time on my hands
whislt workng in windsor. i was imparied with alcohol again.met and chatted to a an older women i was 21, ok not bad and hell why not. so i met her a couple of times again.of course this is not excalty something you mention to others she was 39.so you understand,
and then as these things do.i stayed at her place for breakfast. her daughter was dropping by later to collect something.but its was alright as her daughter was 20 so ok not a problem anyway i willbe gone by then.
i come into the kitchen in her mums bathrobe,and drink a coffee. in walks her daughter.i want to curl up and die as i see its the receptionst from front office.who i share a house with.
I suspect having been a university student the fact that a number of my stories have a drunken theme come as no surprise.
I once went out with a girl, who I was seeing up till xmas. We had a huge barney in the university union at the xmas ball. I cant really remeber what it was about it was sooo long ago. Anyway she really was having a go at me. In my drunken state, I decided that I had enuff (I was very drunk anyway) and turned round to leave the hall and in front of about 400 or so people ran into the xmas tree. It was directly behind me. Knocking a 12 foot tree to the floor with a huige crash. I was escorted from the premises.... I never went out with the girl again. I was nown for a few months as the tree feller. hur de hur hur.
When I was just starting out in my old profession as a hairdresser, I was washing this bloke's hair at the place I was doing my apprenticeship. When I asked him the obligatory "Doing anything nice this weekend?", he replied that he was working on the Sunday. This prompted me to launch into his boss, saying "Your boss must be a right bastard making you work on a Sunday. I'd tell him to piss off and get a job with better hours." He just smiled politely and said it wasn't that bad really. When I'd finished, I removed the towel around his neck to dry his hair, only to reveal...a dog collar.
Fabulous stuff! Naked chefs, loud-mouthed writers, clumsy revellers and dunderhead hairdressers!
(DD are you secretly Jamie Oliver? :-))
Keep 'em coming, oh my excruciating subjects!
- Trout
This is on tomorrow at the Royal National Hotel, Bedford Way (Russell Sq tube) on Saturday 11am-5pm.
Great place to pick up old 2K's and other British comics - usually at well below ebay prices in my experience.
Here's the full sp (whatever that means ?);-
British Comics, Annuals & Pocket Libraries
1930s to present day, Classics Illustrated, Eagle, Dandy, Beano, Magnet, Gem, Valiant, Victor, Rover,
Hotspur, Wizard, Adventure, Hornet, TV21, Blue Peter, Picture Libraries (e.g. Commando, Battle, Air Ace, Cowboy, Thriller, Super Detective, Valentine, Princess, War, Lion, Schoolboys', Schoolgirls', Combat, Valiant, Eagle, Space), etc.
Thunderbirds are Go !!!
celebrating the release of Thunderbirds Classic Comic Strips, by Graham Bleathman and Sam Denham, we are proud to welcome Graham, who will be signing copies of his books from 1pm. Also on show and for sale will be a Thunderous amount of Thunderbirds original art and Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet and Stingray books.
Original Art and Artwork
from British comics, Paperbacks and Pulps, Newspaper and Comic Strips,
Dan Dare, Eagle, Thunderbirds, Ron Embleton, Reg Smythe, Al Capp, Romero, etc, etc.
Pulps & Paperbacks
Crime Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Sleaze, Penguins, Pans,
Panthers, Corgis, Badgers, Weird Tales, Doc Savage, The Shadow, etc, etc.
* * * WITH SPECIAL GUESTS * * *
and book/art signings
Chris Achilleos - his celebrated paintings adorn book covers, posters, films, video and album sleeves, with covers for Edgar Rice Burroughs, Michael Moorcock, Robert E Howard and J R R Tolkien, and Star Trek and Doctor Who. He has worked for film giants George Lucas, Ron Howard and Ray Harryhausen, and produced concept designs for the films Heavy Metal and Willow. His poster work includes SuperGirl, Bladerunner and Jackie Chan's The Protector;
Graham Bleathman - Graham is one of the country's foremost illustrators of Gerry Anderson's television series Stingray, Captain Scarlet, Joe 90 and, of course, Thunderbirds. His illustrations - including his celebrated 'cross-section' illustrations of the spacecraft, vehicles and buildings from these shows - have appeared in a number of books, magazines and comics since the early 1990s;
Keith Page - involved in comics since 1976, Keith has worked on most Fleetway and DC Thomson titles, including Thunderbirds, Sonic the Comic, Eagle, Mask, Supernaturals, Wildcat, Football Picture Library, Dandy, Starblazer, 2000AD, Starlord, Mighty Max (Marvel), Revolver and, latterly, Commando;
Simon Thorpe - Simon's film work includes James Bond The World is Not Enough and much wizard portraiture on Harry Potter and the The Philosopher's Stone;
and the return of Sydney Jordan - the genius creator of the acclaimed Jeff Hawke strip;
and Sam Peffer - the distinguished paperback cover artist of the 1950s and 1960s
I've lost count of the number of times I've put a customer on hold, called them a tosser or somesuch, only to discover that, er, I didn't actually put them on hold...
However, this tale comes from my fickle youth. When I was 16 or 17, I went on a residential course with a youth orchestra I was playing with. And, as you do at that age, I thought it would be "big" and "clever" to secrete a bottle of vodka about my person, which I proceeded to tkae swigs from throughout the coach journey... and onwards into the night.
One bottle later, I woke up in a sea of vomit. I struggled for what seemed like hours to raise myself from my bed and get to the shower to clean myself up, but succeeded only in emptying my stomach further onto my shoes, eventually managing to make it to the toilet for further retching.
I eventually made it to the rehearsal venue several hours late, but had to run out again mere minutes later, as my digestive system was determined to eject whatever was inside it (which by this time was nothing but the odd glass of water I'd managed to get down me). I was disgraced in front of the entire orchestra, and looking back on it I was bloody lucky not to wind up in hospital, or dead from alcohol poisoning. It was to be a good 10 years before I could even look at a glass of vodka again.
Oh, did I mention? One of the tutors on this course was my mum.
another QE2 one. my cabin mate this time.
i wake early one mornign and am brushing my teeth and look down at the bottom bunk and to my surprise my cabin mate had got lucky the night before.
now you females wont understand this but as you do.im interested as too which beast he has slayed.
so i gently pull down the covers to see our next door neighbour in his bed. each happily cuddled to the other.
i wake them both to see the look of pure horror on there faces.the night before both very drunk had came back to the cabins.it is not uncommon to swap cabins with others so to allow you to have a cabin with your grilfriend.
he had gone to the tiollette and stumbled into the wrong cabin.got into bed with who he thought was his G/F. my cabin mate in his drunken state thought he had picked someone up in the bar.
i was only to keen to explain everything to all that would listen over breakfast.ahh revenge can be so sweet.
Probably the most embarrassed I've been was when I nodded off in a lecture at uni, waking up find everyone laughing. I only found out what was going on after the lecture had finished when a friend informed me that I was singing 'Cheggars Plays Pop' in my sleep.
I was once at a student party drinking Royal Dutch (a very low-quality beer, not sure if you can get it in Britain) and chatting to a girl beside me who I didn't know particularly well. I started drunkenly ripping the piss out of the illustration on my can, which was of a man carrying a keg, and was the worst drawing on a product I have ever seen. It then turned out that the girl's father designed it. Cheers, God.
"it is not uncommon to swap cabins with others so to allow you to have a cabin with your grilfriend. he had gone to the tiollette and stumbled into the wrong cabin"
That's what they told you was it?
ADE
i will always wonder i admit.
nothing to add to the thread then adrian? come on.you must have .
in fact any boarder failing to add to this thread will prove you have led a boring life.best thing add to it right now.
:-)
Your much-amused monarch is heading home soon and hopes to see many new humilations added by Monday.
Many thanks to the contenders already here.
Have a fun one!
- Trout
Football World Cup '98.
Oddgirl & I had been watching (IIRC) England Vs Romania in a pub in town ('The North Pole', Winchester) with my (older) brother & his mates in the afternoon.
England had one & everyone was in high spirits & much beer was consumed.
Everyone (except Oddgirl who went to her home instead) trundled back to our house for more beer & more football on the telly (our parents were away on holiday that week).
Both me & my brother had had more booze then most & we'd both gone to our respective rooms to sleep it off, leaving a load of his mates in the lounge with a box of beer & the remote control.
......
I wake to the sound of the telephone ringing, and being too hungover to cope with the noise I ran to the nearest phone to answer it - the one in my parents bedroom.
Opening the door I see a bare ARSE with two naked people bumping & grinding on the bedroom floor.
In my parents room - eww!
So I close the door again & answer the phone downstairs.
......
2 or three years later.
Oddgirl is now at Reading University and at a club (The After Dark I think, but I wasn't there myself) and meets a friend of her friend who turns out to be the female part of the two-backed beast from my parents bedroom.
"WOW! YOU'RE THE ONE HAD SEX IN MY BOYFRIEND'S PARENT'S BEDROOM!!!"
Enough, foul pretenders! I have the ultimate tale of pain and humiliation.
A good friend and myself used to drink at the bar of a local restaurant a couple of times a week. It was one of those places that comes equipped with huge floor to ceiling windows- an important factor for later on. Eventually, the business was sold and as we'd got to know all of the staff pretty well, Luke (my friend) and I got invited to a big "farewell" party on the premises.
Basically, all the alcoholic stock had to be gotten rid of- and get rid of it we did. All was going well until I'd reached that point of "I really don't think I ought to drink any more alcohol"- you know what I mean- when you can be talked into doing really stupid things that you'd never do under normal circumstances.
Such as drink a pint of assorted spirits, topped up with beer.
Things went downhill rapidly from this point as the night became a blur. I danced, I sung- neither of which I do particularly well at the best of times. I told one of the waiters that not only had I always fancied his sister- but that I'd seen his mum pretty recently and that she was "worth a tumble" as well. Still my shame was not complete.
For the rest of the tale, I have to rely on the testimony of others, as it was all news to me when I finally recovered enough to make sense of it all.
Apparently, I ended up outside- leaning against one of those big windows we talked about earlier- arms spread out in front of me in some vague attempt at support. I gave several little coughs, before sliding down the now puke splashed window and rolling around in my own filth- all in full view of those inside. Luke tells me that the owner demanded to know if anyone was with me and had to admit that he was before helping me up to make the two-minute walk home.
Forty minutes later, minus the shirt on my back, my wallet and with a phone in three pieces, Luke managed to get me into my flat, where my girlfriend went completely mad at him. Mainly because Luke's wife had been on the phone demanding to know where he was. She was especially agitated because:
a) He'd assured her that he'd be home by 10.30
b) It was now 02.45
c) Being a postman, he had to be up 04.00
I awoke the next day, still p*ssed out of my head and totally unable to form coherent thoughts- much less speech. It took me the best part of a week to recover fully and was known as "sickboy" for a long, long time. Even more galling was that as the builders were remodelling the place, my smudged hand prints remained on the window for months...
Still, it could have been worse. At least I didn't wet myself.
Too embarassing to tell in front of a large crowd, but for those who've heard it - the Puppy story.
Zoe Ball. Thank you, it was an absolutely corking prize but I still cringe at the thought of 10 million listeners having to endure my protracted impression of an insomiac clam.
And I'm sorry for insulting your sandwich.
A few years ago I was at the cinema enjoying the trailers when a lady with big hair sat down in front of me. The thought of her obstructing my view prompted me to tap her on the shoulder and enquire as to wether she 'wouldn't mind slipping down a few inches'...
Another glorious alcohol related story. This one dates back to my last year at high school. As most people probably do, we had a prom at some posh hotel in Edinburgh (the one in Charlotte Square which I really should know the name of) anyways me and my mate had decided before the prom we would go for a bar crawl along Rose Street (if you're not scottish you won't get this), so after frequenting a sizable number of pubs we finaly made it to the hotel. A few more drinks and a meal later all seems to be going well. Me and a few others were wearing a kilt, and all of us of course being true Scotsmen were convinced to pose for a picture all of us mooning at the same time. Well being slightly the worse for wear I obviously said yes, end up bend over and leaning on the wall for some support. All is well until a week later and the photos are developed. There we are, all of us there in a row, but one of us ended up showing a bit more than we wanted to. Suffice to say the picture was plastered all over the school, a copy given to my parents, a copy posted on the internet and so forth. Thankfully down here in England no-one knows what a kilt is and so far we have had no repeat incidents, but just give me time... and plenty of beer.
"nothing to add to the thread then adrian?"
Only those three words "New Droids Panel"
ADE
I was having a well-earned lie in after a serious night on the piss, when my brother's mate (we'll call him Phil, for that was his name) came into my room and asked me if I'd like a cup of tea. Stupidly I said yes.
He told me to stay in bed and he'd bring it up to me. What a lovely lad. Anyhoo, later on I went downstairs and Phil said, "Did you enjoy your cuppa".
"Yes thanks" I replied, "It was lovely, although it could have been hotter".
It was a while before I found out why it wasn't hot. It was because the b*st*rd had stirred my tea with his dick and he didn't want to burn himself. The twat.
Joolz
ahh but the question begs to be asked.
are you embarrased as you told him the tea tasted wonderful.i want some more.
or because others knew what he had done?
mmm the problem with embarasing stories is that they tend to get banished to the denial memory banks. Being a bit of a loud mouth I have plenty of saying the wrong things tales.
Ive already mentioned somewhere the time my father appeared out of nowhere in the forest when i was er...preoccupied with a b/f.
or how about the wedding from hell ?... this gets nasty , be warned..... went to friends wedding reception ,only knew the bride & someone else who never turned up til very late. so i got bunged on a table with friendly strangers, drink some, a ladie turns out to be a gym/PE teacher, so i express surprise because shes far too pretty etc then launch into my halarious talk about how the local gym teacher is hated by all the kids & is a pure knuckle dragging gorilla hairy legged bitch cow who hated me cos i was thinner than her....yup they turned out to be friends. so i drink some more, do some dancing with strangers, stand in front of seated people feining enjoyment at Inverness yuppies pretending to ceilidh. stood around jigging around there for ages i did, in my very very tight pale creme trousers. much later went to loo.... thankyou oh great menstral goddess, I had an unexpected visit from aunt flo creating a huge unmistakeable stain. lo, i went to find my friend who had by now arrived to explain & ask if we could get the hell outtof there...alas she (& other gal) was very busy chatting & flirting with the (goodlooking) band & basically organising a group pull back to our caravan. after much glares & failing eye signals, i skulked out of there as best i could sliding along the wall & drove home pissed in pyjamas 2hr drive at 4 in morn. I got a post card the next day from the band & the girls, hey huffy girl where did you go ? Nightmare !!
Hooray for humiliation!
You're a bunch of stars.
There currently are several front-runners for best fool, but more entries will be accepted for a day or two.
Get confessing, the rest of you.
And DXB - the puppy story?
- Trout
A non-alcohol fuelled story..
I was in FP off Oxford Street in the early 90's and was approached by two guys from Radio 4 who were interviewing people about comics and what and why they read. We had a great and articulate discussion and they asked would I be interviewed.
Feeling chuffed I said yep, only to find that as they clicked on the tape-recorder I had completely lost the ability to form any kind of coherent sentence. The look of shock and horror on their faces as I turned from nice Mr Average to babbling insane idiot was so bad I almost ran out of the shop. I did listen to the broadcast, and for some reason did not hear myself anywhere.
I appologise to all of you for adding to the media's tainted view of comic readers.
M.
My brother once went out with his girlfriend's family (brother, sister, parents) to an Indian Restaurant. They were celebrating her dad's 50th. A lot of drink was consumed, and both her dad and my brother had the hottest curry available. They all then spent the night at her parent's house. (He slept on the couch).
Anyway, next morning he wakes up to find that he urgently needs to make a deposit in the porcelain bank, if you get my drift - the curry from the night before is back with a vengance. Problem is, there is only one bathroom... and her dad is in it with the same problem as my brother.
Frantic pounding on the door ensues, but to no avail - her dad can't move because he is copiously releiving himself.
With nothing left to do, my brother has to form a little pouch with his underpants and then do his business. He throws the resulting mess out of a window, only for it to stick on the kitchen window sill.
They all have breakfast - a good old fashioned fry up to clear their heads. It gets a bit smokey and the window is opened.
The resulting breeze brings with it an overpowering aroma of freshly deposited jobbie.
He gets married in April, to someone else. Think I should mention this in the best man speech? (No, I won't - don't worry!)
I almost can't believe that I'm so willing to gain the Trout's favour that I feel it necessary to relive another painful moment from my past that still haunts me to this day....
Obviously, this story involves alcohol, as all the most humiliating stories tend to. When I was nineteen, back in the halcyon days of 1990, I had the misfortune of working for my Dad- who's ok in his own way, but nothing at all like me really. I should explain that as I've never actually lived with my Dad, working for him was an opportunity to get to know him a bit and was, I suspect, a bit of an eye opener for us both.
He owns and runs a garage and body repair shop (that's cars and stuff as opposed to bionic refits) and at the time, I was mainly engaged in the bodywork side, so I tended to always look like I'd been sleeping rough for a few days as I never bothered with overalls, but tended to just wear my knackered old clothes. Again, as with the last humiliating story, this not too important sounding detail will make more sense later on.
Cut an exceptionally long story a little bit shorter- a celebration was in order one summer afternoon, for reasons I'll not go into, and Dad brought out a couple of crates of beer that he kept out the back for just such emergencies. At this time, I hadn't drunk beer or lager for a couple of years (a whole new tale of pain and anguish in itself) and I was a bit of a cider drinker. Thankfully, these days have long since passed and I now drink my lager, as any self-respecting lout should. Anyway, I felt a bit left out, not being able to stomach the beer, so my Dad kindly produced a bottle of gin from his secret stash of booze and told me to go and buy myself a mixer from the garage. I came back with a big bottle of Orangina and proceeded to pour myself several hefty slugs. It tasted like somebody had poured aftershave into my fizzy pop- but I was desperate to be one of the boys and pretty soon, didn't much care what it tasted like- I even started to like it once the initial need to retch had passed.
And so it went. The afternoon rolled on, I swore at some poor fool who rang to find out where his car had got to- I weed on my Dad's leg as he attempted to fix the chain on the toilet I had incapacitated only moments earlier by clutching on to it for dear life. How we laughed! Eventually, my Dad's patience wore a little thin and he suggested that I leave work early (it was about 4.30 and all the gin and Orangina had been drunk). I made it as far as the corner of the road before falling into a deep sleep on a bench, only to be awoken some indeterminable time later by one of Dad's grease monkeys who was on his way home for the night. This kind soul put me on the bus to town, where I could catch a bus home to my sleepy little village of Fleckney.
My next major error was to not head straight for the bus station, but go instead to my nearest comic shop to see a mate that ran the place- mainly because I quite fancied one of the girls he had working for him. Thankfully, the shop was now closed; otherwise somebody might have listed me as their "scariest fanboy moment" elsewhere on the board. After trying the door several times, both pulling and pushing, I gave it a few solid kicks before falling over and deciding that it might actually be shut. It was at this point that I realised I might in fact be a bit worse for wear and decided it would be for the best if I was to head for the bus station and home.
I was now acutely aware that not only did I smell like a crazy homeless type, but I also looked the part- due in no small part to my attire of torn jeans, smeggy trainers and moth eaten old jumper- all of which were covered in various splodges of paint and dirt (I'm pretty sure it was a Thursday, which meant that I'd been wearing them all week). I was also clutching a plastic bag that held my sandwich box as though my very life depended on it and was probably wearing a look of steely determination in the face of adversity that more than likely translated more along the lines of "p*ssed out of head- attempting to retain some dignity".
After what seemed to be an eternity of stumbling and people crossing the street to avoid me, I made it to the bus station- only to find that all the day busses were gone and that I was now on the night service- i.e. 6.30, 9.30 and 11.00. It was about 6.45. Whilst cursing the comic shop excursion and wondering what to do for the best, I lost my grip on the precious sandwich box and as I bent down to retrieve it; I accidentally kicked it away from me. I did this several times until one kind lady picked it up for me and asked me if I was all right. I lied, said that I was and told her that I needed to make a phone call before lurching off, trying not to breathe on her as I thanked her for her concern. I tried ringing people- difficult when you can barely count your hands and you need to remember long numbers. I also only had pound coins on me (remember, this was in the days when mobile phones had suitcases attached to them), which made it expensive as well. First port of call was my girlfriend- although I don't know why, because she was in London and I was in Leicester and there was very little she could actually do for me. Maybe I was just practising- I can't really remember to be honest. By this time, I was little more than a dribbling moron and my legs kept ignoring the signals from my brain and buckling underneath me. Fortunately, the phone cord was made of pretty sturdy stuff and managed to take my weight quite admirably, although it did mean that I was spinning around and banging against the wall a lot. It was at about this time that I became aware of two men standing at either side of me. Turns out that they were security and wanted me to leave. Thankfully, they agreed to speak to my girlfriend, who assured them that I had never done anything like this before and she implored them to keep me safe until the 9.30 bus. I also managed to ring my mum at some point and explain to her my predicament. She wanted to come and fetch me, but I insisted that I was fine and that I was with friends and would catch the next bus.
Unfortunately, she believed me.
Now. The story doesn't quite end here, but there is a big gap. The last thing I remember is the bit with the two security guys (although actually, one of them was a cleaner). The next thing I remember is waking up- more lying down than actually sitting- on a toilet, in a cubicle of what I assumed was the bus station. I was a bit confused to be honest, as I had no recollection of even needing the toilet- much less locking myself into the cubicle. There was a smell. A sickly smell. The smell was me. I was drenched in regurgitated Orangina- you could still see the itty-bitty orange bits.
Sadly, I had also wet myself.
I emerged from the cubicle and washed my face and neck as best as I could- dimly aware of some activity going on behind me. I looked, only to see the cleaner swilling out the sick from the cubicle I'd just vacated and I remember thinking "the poor sod, some dirty b*stard's puked in the bog and now he has to clean it all up", but failing to make the connection with this and my being drenched in sick.
Eventually, the bus pulled up and I got on it. The driver, a woman, looked at me with disdain. I had toyed with the idea of simply stating my destination and handing over the money as if nothing was amiss, but felt that something needed to be said, so I apologised for the state that I was in and told her that I desperately needed to get home. Her expression didn't alter, but at least she took my money. I made my way to the top deck and promptly fell fast asleep, it being a good forty five minutes to Fleckney.
Interesting point about Fleckney's bus service- it runs in a loop. It drives for miles and miles around all the surrounding villages before hitting Fleckney and turning round to head back for Leicester. Which was where I woke up. We pulled into the station and I thought that there was something wrong with the bus before putting two and two together. It was very much like being in Hell. All I wanted was to get home!
Fortunately, the driver took pity on me and didn't make me pay again- which was lucky as I had no more money to give her- and this time, I actually got off in Fleckney- although sadly, I managed to forget my sandwich box and could only weep for its loss as it made the lonely journey back to Leicester without me...
My Mum wasn't best pleased with my Dad, I can you that for nothing.
"you could still see the itty-bitty orange bits."
A masterpiece, Mr Eyebrows!
Nigel
Didn't involve me per say, this proud moment belongs to my brother.
My bro's lying in his scratch after a night on the town, and my Cousin, who regularly camped out on my bro's floor when his family visited every other weekend or so, had passed out in the usual manner.
Later in the night however said Cuz decided to work up a sneaky midnight hand shandy.
Poor bro woke up to some dubios huffing and puffing, and in dawning horror shouted 'will you just feckin quit it" - just as Cuz hit the vinegar strokes.
Needless to say there are some things that shouldn't be kept in the family.
Cheers- it was all going so well until the last line- when I forgot to include the word "tell".
I feel that I ought to point out that my two tales of woe did take place with a good ten years between them and that I am indeed a reasonably normal bloke who goes out all the time and has a couple of sociable drinks before skipping merrily hojme again.
I've never been able to face gin again though-
Ugh...
another tale from the says of QE2.
ships have an ice routine which basically means they close all doors in certain seciton with uge metal panels.teh only way out is up, along the deck and down again.
now in one of my often large bouts of alchol i had arranged with my cabin mate to sleep else where,as he would be entertaining a member fo the female crew.and best to him as well.they introduced me to her cabin mate. a lass who we shall describe as a salad avoider,who wore XXL sized clothing.anyway ,
in my drunken haze, which i think she may have helped by keeping the beer glass full. i agreed i would stay the night in her cabin.
on our way back to the cabin, and i was drunk i remind all males here.she asks if have any condoms. which i did not have.
so i happily walk to the 24 hospital onboard and wake the night nurse. and ask for some condoms. she duly informs me she is only supposed to be woken for emergencies.
to which i am told i inform her
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY,:~).
the only real mistake it will later turn out.
i manage to find the XXL ladies cabin.
i awake the next morning to find myself in a the wrong bunk, the wrong cabin ,severly squeezed against the bulk head(wall)naked. in my extreme state of panic, i get out of bed and look out the door.
step outisde, still in a considerable drunken state i might add.
the door closes, i am in the corridor of the female accomadation , NAKED,
the water tight doors are closed. im four blocks from my cabin.
i have to walk up 7 levels, along the promanade deck and abck down seven levels. to my area of accomadation.on route the only item i can find to hide the fact im a NAKED is a life jacket. in bright orange,
i don this. and try to look as natural as possible as i wander down a the luckily deserted promande deck.to the male accomadation.
once there i get to my cabin and awake my cabin mate to let me in.
who i swear to secrecy about my escapade.
sadly the night nurse was less then amused and felt it was funny to tell the entire ward room the incident.which when the officer of the deck heard put two and two togehter to realise the maked passenger wearing nothing but a life jacket on the deck at 5am may well infact the same person.
the jungle drums being what they are.by the time dinner service had commenced the word was out,
i was the the life jacket attired Naked Dragon slayer.
i avoided the crew bar for an entire week. until a college managed to humilate himself to such a high degree which made my escapdes old news.
ahhh the days of sea life.
i truly believe the term worse things happen at sea to be very relevant.
You all thought I'd forgotten this, didn't you?
(I had, but only temporarily)
Many thanks to everyone who humiliated themselves over the last fortnight, especially to those who described drunken embarrassments, which are always entertaining.
However: the runner-up is
Bou, with her women's curse horror. I was pretty freaked out. But don't drink and drive, oh my subjects!
And the grand prize winner, with the new title of Undersea Fool is...
WILS!
For the sheer comedy value in singing Cheggers Plays Pop in a crowded room!
Well done, ridiculous one!
- Your mighty King