I was very, very drunk

We left Durdle Door a day early to go to a party back home.
On the way back I popped into the local cider farm to pick up a gallon of fowl scrumpy with my last fiver.

My grandparents we out of town and asked me to look after their bungalow for the week, So I requested the help of my four Friend's.
We headed there, got showered, changed, grabbed our drinks and got into my car.
After a week in the metro, josh was refusing to drive.
So it was down to me and my car to get us to the party.

Upon arrival I sat down with my scrumpy and, pretending it didn't smell and taste like the contents of a tramps bladder, started to down it.
It didn't take long before the effects started to take hold, and very quickly, the room was spinning and I was not feeling too great.
I headed to the bathroom for a multicoloured yawn, I was well past the point of no return and josh was trying to pour more cider down my throat, to make me feel better.
This is all I remember of the night, the rest of the story is made up of bits and pieces Ive been told from the others.

Josh got worried as Ive been gone for an hour and there was a cue of people trying to get into the bathroom, so he decided he would have to get me out via the window.
Finding a fence post in next doors garden, he started hitting the window, trying to smash it to remove a passed out krusty.
I think it was at this point I woke up on the bathroom floor with a girl outside asking it I could reach the lock on the door.
I could, and they carried me out.

no one bothered to tell Josh who was still beating the window with a wet piece of wood.
Mike decided It was probably best that I didn't drive, and since he was the most sober, and nearly had a driving licence, that he would taxi us home. The party was nearly over anyhow.
they carried me to the car, and a guy called Nick jumped in saying he needed a lift and he wanted to show us something cool on the way home.
He had a Saturday Job in a country park and had the keys to the gate, so we headed there, while I continued being sick in my lap, in the passenger seat.

We got to the park and the four lads in the back seat was moaning it was cramped and smelt of sick, So Nick, being the considerate one left the car via the window and stood on the roof.
The game of rodeo commenced, with Mike ragging my car over the speed ramps trying to throw Nick off the roof, and me projectile vomiting into the windscreen.
I never did find out who won, or if Nick survived the night, Ive not seen him since so I doubt it.
My next memory was waking up in my car, alone, covered in puke,

Looking up there was foot prints on my sunroof and I had no idea where I was.
I rolled down the yellow and green splatted window to see my grandparents house at sunrise.
staggering out of the car I found the back door of the house wide open and the lads asleep in my grandads bed. The bungalow was trashed, like another party erupted there at some point. leaving me to clean both the house and a car almost full of recycled scrumpy.

You coming to the Beach Party

Guest story from Mike!

You coming to the Beach Party


One hot summer’s night, whilst on a surfing holiday in Bude, Josh and Mike were frequenting their favourite night spot (the Manor) for a few scoops of beer, a dance and to once again try their luck with the local women. That summer, playing the head hunter game of who could yield the greatest number of scalps, was the past time of choice. This particular evening, after establishing that the most successful strategy for pulling an eligible young lady was to bust some kick ass moves on the dance floor, Mike managed to snare a local filly. Not only was she hot, but she was also firmly in the locals circle of trust – a select committee that tourist like us were never allowed to enter. This privilege was literally an access all areas pass that entitled you to anything from lock- in’s to learning where the secret surf breaks were. This scalp was therefore a catch in more than one ways – and I not just talking about Sif.

On this occasion, the girl was in the know about a “cool” beach party somewhere along the coast – all the cool dudes where going to be there. Mike didn’t officially get a written invitation to the party but he was snogging her face off which naturally entitled him to a one off pass – surely?

Whilst Mike was negotiating entry in more than one context, Josh was bouncing off the walls, mine sweeping for beer and dangling the odd hook in the hope of pulling something. By now, the night was so long in the tooth that the lights were up and the only girls left on offer were transvestites, lesbians and hippocrocopigs, the type that kick start jumbo jets at Heathrow. So when Mike came with news that he had sealed entry to the beach party and that his hot chick had a friend, Josh jumped at the opportunity laid before him. Besides, he was always Mike’s wingman – a job that he did quite well and in fairness did quite well from.

The beach party was some 5 miles away in a discrete cove so transport was going to be a necessity. Fortunately Mike new squeeze was driving and, would you believe it, hadn’t been drinking – she must be naturally bubbly, Mike thought! The happy foursome piled into the car and took off at high speed to the party. Mike’s drunken, loved up feeling soon left him as the blood drained from his knuckles holding on for dear life. For anyone who doesn’t know the Atlantic Road that links the Widemouth Manor with Bude, I can only describe it as 5 miles of boy racer heaven and this girl was travelling, obviously going for a person best.

They arrived at the entrance to the beach car park sideways, Mike flung the door open and fell out of the car – kissing the ground in jest as he did so. The music was a distant thud towards the coast but the path to it was led by a thick electrical cable that originated from a house and disappeared into the darkness. The foursome followed the cable, Mike and Josh couldn’t believe their luck, they had heard tales about these parties but never believed that they were this well organised. Whilst Josh congratulated Mike on his latest acquisition to the scalp count, Mike noticed out of the corner of eye that his new girl was being rather friendly with a local chap who had sprung out of the bushes. Thinking nothing more of it other than a small town overfriendliness Mike and Josh continued their journey to the beach with their attention turning to where their next beer would come from.

With Josh a committed alcoholic, the burning desire to find the next beer was too great. Mike had to choose between settling down to married life with his new love or hunting down beer and checking out what additional talent was on offer. Mike, not being one to be content with his lot and definitely not understanding the meaning of commitment decided to join the hunt for beer and the odd chick along the way. It wasn’t too long before Mike hand a beer in one hand a new girl in the other and they were ready to party.

Josh and Mike were amazed at the level of detail the beach party organisers had gone to, there were six large pumping speakers blasting out trance music, a DJ set up in one of the caves and a sand dance floor where a gaggle of locals were preforming some kind of barefooted tribal dance. Mike and Josh joined in and danced until the first milky light of dawn. This was the sign that it was time to leave and for Mike to reacquaint himself with this evening first love. Finding her was the easy part; she was leading the tribal dancing and hadn’t stopped all night. She was dripping in sweet, the blood had drained from her face and her eyes where distant but the prospect of a lift home masked her with a new found beauty.
Mike asked what time she was going and if she could drop him and Josh back to their tent. “You must be joking love; I’m off my fecking tits mate” came the response. All of a sudden everything fell into place and the penny dropped that this girl had been pilling it up all night and that friendly chap in the bushes was in fact her dealer. It also became apparent that Mike and Josh had a long walk ahead of them.

Besides being innovative at find new methods of getting home, Josh was and still is a lazy git, so there was no way that he was going walk that kind of distance. Both had had previous form in borrowing vehicles to speed their travel home and bikes were a personal favourite of Josh. It therefore goes without saying that before too long Mike was keeping watch whilst Josh eased open the door to a garage of neighbouring house.

All was quiet, not even the sound of the thumping base of the beach party could be heard except for the snoring of the owner of house. This feller was either sleeping downstairs, kicked out of the bed by his wife because of his deep throated snore or he had fallen asleep in front of the TV and was now having an asthma- attack whilst the only the people could save him from certain death where nicking his bikes from right under his trumping nose.

It wasn’t too long before Josh reappeared with some good news, he had found two bikes but because he took the initiative he had first choice. Mike agreed and looked excitedly at Joshes fairly new and most worthy mountain bike. “Yours is in the shed” Josh said as he cycled past.
Mike crept around the gate and there she stood, a 1970’s style librarians wet dream. Both white walled tyres where flat as a pancake, there was a book rack on the back and the icing on the cake was a wicker basket firmly bolted to the front. Mike shrugged his shoulders and considered the alternative, a 3 hour walk back at the end of an exhausting evening or a considerably shorter ride on a less than fashionable bike. There was no competition and Mike stood on the pedal to get the first push off. As the wheels started to turn, Mike heard a familiar dink… dink…dink sound coming from the bike. The quicker Mike peddled that loader and more frequent the dink…dink...dink became. Be quite, Josh hissed as the court yard echoed with the deep bellow snoring and the dinking coming from the bike. Suddenly it dawned on Mike why the sound was so familiar, his sister’s bike had a similar sound - it was spokey dokes, Mike’s bike had the fall complement that included spokey dokes.

As Mike made his eureka moment public, the court yard filled with snoring, spokey doke dinking and chuckling. Josh compounded the situation by dropping his mountain bike as he curled up with laughter. Suddenly the snoring stopped; it was time to make a quick getaway before the snorer pieced together what was going on. Mike had a head start and by now his spokey dokes were dinking at a rapid pace. Josh clambered on his bike and stood on the pedal with all of his considerable weight to kick start his bike into action. However, in dropping his bike had knocked the chain off. With no resistance from the cogs, his weight continued forward until he crash into the bike using his crown jewels as a type of painful air bag to stop the impact to his face. Josh continued his fall into the collection of dust bins situated at the entrance to drive.

Things were now critical as the lights to house suddenly went on; fortunately Josh managed to scoot the bike out of the driveway and climber onto it as it reached the top of a small hill. Mike and Josh had escaped immediate danger by the skin of their teeth but they were able to see the funny side and fortunately had time to laugh and the sequence of events that had just taken place, put the chain back onto the bike and compose them-selves for the journey home.

Downhill was a doddle, Mike and Josh raced to epic speeds? Mikes flat tyre handicap was evened out by the spare tyre Josh was carrying around his middle.  With the wind in their hair, the sound of the ocean in the distance and the dink,dink,dink of the spokey dokes they made their way home with speed, they even had time to stop and offer a lift to a lonely girl heading in the same direction.

Before they knew it, they had arrived back the manor. They leaned their trusty steeds against the signpost directing you to Newquay and walked up the hill to their tent, still laughing at Mikes mode of transport. The morning came quickly and it was time for a midday surf, as the two sprint cyclists drove to the beach they had noticed that the recently liberated bikes had made their way back to their rightful owners - all was right again in the world!      

Spit-roast

Ben's parents used to have big family BBQs once a month, which we used to gate crash.
We jump in the Metro and head out to the beach in the new forest where they hire a bbq area for the day.
One classic line that will stay with me forever came from his mum, cyprus Jill.

"And later, we will spit roast a chicken!"

she never understood why we were pissing ourselfs for ages.
Spit roasting meant something totally different to our dirty minds.

Handbrake turn, handbrake turn!!!

Not being there myself, I am repeating this story after being retold it a few weeks ago.

Ben had a car.

Unfortunately it was not a Metro.

Ben had a huge sound system in this car. 600W sub, 6x9s 200w speakers everywhere, tweeters the lot, Ben loved his car.

The only thing Ben didn’t have was a driving licence...

The decision was made to try their hand at go-kart racing.

The only problem was the Metro was in use by Josh's mum. The fact she was a majority share holder was starting to become an issue .

So Ben came up with the great idea of taking his.

They got to the race track without a hitch, Mikes younger brother in the back panicking all the way there as Ben still not worked out how to keep the car in a straight line at that point.

It was on the way home that the fun started.

Back then you could say that Ben was easy to lead on, you could also say he liked pies a bit, and both would be a huge understatement.

As they left the gravel road leaving the race track Josh shouted to Ben “handbrake turn hand brake turn!!!”

Ben took this as good advice since Josh was the only one with a valid licence at the time.

And pulled up his handbrake..

the car span , and span, and span the other way for a bit , then found a tree in the middle of the road and parked itself neatly in the trunk.

Everyone leaving the race track cheered as they drove by, honking their horns and offering the lads abuse rather than help.

When Ben phoned his dad asking for a lift home, and explained about the near miss with the fox that he had to swerve around, and unfortunately, to save the poor foxes life he had to use a tree as a brake. He dad was not too pleased as you can imagine.