Cigarettes and Alcohol: Confessions of a Stag Weekend by Phil Sloan Page A
Authors: Phil Sloan
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road, Burke somehow manages to walk straight into a lamp post. Believe me this took some doing as he was reeling about from side to side and was finding it hard to walk in anything even remotely resembling a straight line at the time.
With a massive CLANG! noise, he goes down like a ton of elephant shit being dropped. Village rushes over to pick him up and already a huge bump the size of an over-sized egg has come up on his forehead. This does not look good for Burke. If he manages to avoid a minor concussion we are all going to be amazed.
We escort him back to his room and all know that he is out of the game as well. Another one bites the dust.
It’s like our night has a major Tutankhamen type curse on it or some such. There are just eight of us left now but we will make every pint count and compensate for the short fall in our ranks.
We find the drinking establishment that our follically challenged, Farmers Pig (wig) wearing, new best mate has recommended and horror of horrors there’s a Karaoke Night on.
I am not sure exactly what Karaoke actually means but I am convinced that it must be ‘shit singers singing shit songs shitly.’ My advice to anyone is not to enter any premises that hold these truly ear torturing tedious nights. No good will come of it, believe me.
As we walk up to the door someone is murdering the tune of some already agonisingly awful song so we decide to avoid the place and go find somewhere else to knock back our quota of grog.
We need to get some solids on board. Generally ‘eating is cheating’ on a staggie but it was now nine at night, after heavy hours on the beer we needed a gut full of nosh or we would be in all sorts of bother later on.
Luckily we spot an Indian restaurant up ahead so we dart in for some top curried food.
The owner of the place did not exactly welcome us eight noisy English tossers with open arms, but he led us to a big table out back, well away from his other punters where we couldn’t offend anyone.
We ordered up some scran and yet more booze and inevitably the chat pretty soon turned nonsensical:
“ PISSED UP CONVERSATION # 3 :
Kid M : Are we ever going to get THE SUN TATT on the market and make our fortune ?
Kid L : Remind me of this sure fire money winner again . We always chat about this when I am out of my box and can’t remember the P of A ( Plan of Action )
Kid M : THE SUN TATT . It’s a piece of plastic cut into cool shapes , like a beer bottle shape for instance . You then stick the plastic on your arm when you sun bathe . Let the currant bun [ sun ] give you the perfect peter pan [ tan ] and you then remove THE SUN TATT leaving that part of your skin un - tanned but in the shape of a beer bottle .
Kid L : Genius bro . You could have anything you wanted tattooed on your arms , legs or chest , without all the pain and aggro of a real tatt . Amazing !
Kid M : You could cut names into the designs , so your SUN TATT could read Mum or whatever . You could sell swallows or little heart shaped bits of plastic . They would look right classy unlike real tattoos .
Kid L : Obviously , there’s no need for laser treatment when you want to get rid of your SUN TATT either . You just go back out in the sunshine and you are sorted . A winner , let’s do it .
Kid M : I’ve even got the advertising jingle all worked out . SUN TATT , SUN TATT , STICK IT UP YOUR BUM TATT . It will be great . Anyone on holiday is going to buy hundreds of these things for sure .
Kid L : Yeah the kids are going to dig this . We’re going to make millions and get out of the shitty rat race . Tattoos for anyone , without the need for ink or needles . Result . I’m going to patent this as soon as we get home .”
Obviously he didn’t. He’s still as skint as the rest of us! END OF CONVERSATION…..
Halfway through the meal I had to dart out for a piss. ‘Breaking the seal’ is never a good idea when out on a session. Visit the lavvy once and from then on you’ve got to
With a massive CLANG! noise, he goes down like a ton of elephant shit being dropped. Village rushes over to pick him up and already a huge bump the size of an over-sized egg has come up on his forehead. This does not look good for Burke. If he manages to avoid a minor concussion we are all going to be amazed.
We escort him back to his room and all know that he is out of the game as well. Another one bites the dust.
It’s like our night has a major Tutankhamen type curse on it or some such. There are just eight of us left now but we will make every pint count and compensate for the short fall in our ranks.
We find the drinking establishment that our follically challenged, Farmers Pig (wig) wearing, new best mate has recommended and horror of horrors there’s a Karaoke Night on.
I am not sure exactly what Karaoke actually means but I am convinced that it must be ‘shit singers singing shit songs shitly.’ My advice to anyone is not to enter any premises that hold these truly ear torturing tedious nights. No good will come of it, believe me.
As we walk up to the door someone is murdering the tune of some already agonisingly awful song so we decide to avoid the place and go find somewhere else to knock back our quota of grog.
We need to get some solids on board. Generally ‘eating is cheating’ on a staggie but it was now nine at night, after heavy hours on the beer we needed a gut full of nosh or we would be in all sorts of bother later on.
Luckily we spot an Indian restaurant up ahead so we dart in for some top curried food.
The owner of the place did not exactly welcome us eight noisy English tossers with open arms, but he led us to a big table out back, well away from his other punters where we couldn’t offend anyone.
We ordered up some scran and yet more booze and inevitably the chat pretty soon turned nonsensical:
“ PISSED UP CONVERSATION # 3 :
Kid M : Are we ever going to get THE SUN TATT on the market and make our fortune ?
Kid L : Remind me of this sure fire money winner again . We always chat about this when I am out of my box and can’t remember the P of A ( Plan of Action )
Kid M : THE SUN TATT . It’s a piece of plastic cut into cool shapes , like a beer bottle shape for instance . You then stick the plastic on your arm when you sun bathe . Let the currant bun [ sun ] give you the perfect peter pan [ tan ] and you then remove THE SUN TATT leaving that part of your skin un - tanned but in the shape of a beer bottle .
Kid L : Genius bro . You could have anything you wanted tattooed on your arms , legs or chest , without all the pain and aggro of a real tatt . Amazing !
Kid M : You could cut names into the designs , so your SUN TATT could read Mum or whatever . You could sell swallows or little heart shaped bits of plastic . They would look right classy unlike real tattoos .
Kid L : Obviously , there’s no need for laser treatment when you want to get rid of your SUN TATT either . You just go back out in the sunshine and you are sorted . A winner , let’s do it .
Kid M : I’ve even got the advertising jingle all worked out . SUN TATT , SUN TATT , STICK IT UP YOUR BUM TATT . It will be great . Anyone on holiday is going to buy hundreds of these things for sure .
Kid L : Yeah the kids are going to dig this . We’re going to make millions and get out of the shitty rat race . Tattoos for anyone , without the need for ink or needles . Result . I’m going to patent this as soon as we get home .”
Obviously he didn’t. He’s still as skint as the rest of us! END OF CONVERSATION…..
Halfway through the meal I had to dart out for a piss. ‘Breaking the seal’ is never a good idea when out on a session. Visit the lavvy once and from then on you’ve got to
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