Tales of daily life from a 20-something Student from London.

Sunday, 15 January 2012

Pub Fox Hunting

21st Birthday's are always monumental occasions. People go abroad, go to expensive clubs, eat expensive food, do things they'll regret in the morning, generally go all out. This year it so happened that two of my friends 21st's, Sam Ham and Bean'ed, fell across a single weekend in January. This weekend. Naturally, we decided there was only one way to celebrate this.

Pub Fox Hunting. Essentially a similar concept to Pub Golf (google it), but instead of dressing as golfers, we instead dressed as fox hunters. Well, I say fox hunters...
When the message went out, and we discovered that real fox hunters actually dress a bit like posh circus ringmasters, we took it upon ourselves
to just dress a bit like posh farmers. Only, Phil didn't quite get this:


As you can see Phil, on the left, DID dress like a genuine fox hunter. So there were 11 farmers, and 1 circus ringleader, trapsing around the West End, drinking drinks. The first pub was solely chosen due to the name 'The Intrepid Fox'. A fitting way to start the evening, clearly.

We had found the West End's premier Metal/Goth pub. If I was in plain clothes, I would have stuck out, let alone dressed like Bernard Matthews. After the obligatory shots and bottles, progression was made to a small bar down Tinpan Alley, where the sign for 'happy hour' couldn't go amiss. The place was full of couples enjoying a nice drink, so I take pride in the fact we completely ruined any atmosphere, but probably did give them a talking point. After the barman shook 12 woowoo's for a group of farmers and Zippo the ringleader (a sentence I never expected to utter), the cocktails were downed, and we progressed to the 'ale pub' that we were all dreading. My hazy memory tells me this was the first pub that someone chundered, with Busby eventually finishing the pint at about 24 over par. Not the best effort.

At this point things started to get a little messy. The cider pub left many of us declaring it was, in our tipsy states, 'the coldest thing we've ever drunk', and the barwoman disliked us for asking so many questions about/pining over a small plate of sausage and mash lying on a table. Following this, if anything was needed to push us that bit further, the Guiness pub arrived. People cheekily tried to 'accidentally spill some' and someone else chundered, unfortunately slightly spattering their own shoes. Hungry, we needed food. The first place in sight was a curry house, and to my knowledge, I paid about 15 quid for a beer that I didn't want and definitely didn't need and a small container with a spattering of rice and a bit of Tikka Masala. 12 brave men were slowly reaching the end.

Sadly, or not so, as this was a fairly long entry, this is where the story is left. Partly due to an air of mystery being kept, partly the fact I can't remember much else. If you've never tried pub golf, try it, it's excellent. But do prepare yourself for a hangover like no other. Have a good week everyone.

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

Cause whatever I did, whatever I said, I didn't mean it...

Ok. So, roughly five people have complained about the lack of new entries. If I'm honest, I got a little bit tired of it all. But hey, at least it's given me plenty of time to get some material to write some more entries, right?

One big issue that got missed was a trip to the delightful European city of Amsterdam. Which is exactly as seedy as it is portrayed. Not that this is a bad thing, mind. You couldn't walk down a street without being tempted by the 'aromas' of a local coffee house. And the Dutch are very friendly people. Well, most...

"Are you guys English?"
"We sure are"

This could have gone one of two ways. Either he was a big fan of the English, and we were about to be praised and loved, or he was a crazy Dutch national from the Dutch equivalent of Luton.

"Whereabouts you from?"
"OHHH! So, what football team you support?"

Risky territory. What if Millwall had a Dutch division?

"West Ham"
"Oh. Good. At least you aren't Chelsea"

Conversation over. I was ready to get out of there, and away from Amsterdamaged-at-birth.

"Why's that?" my buddy Sam pipes up

Now, what came next can only be described as a bellow. I'm saying this because cap locks doesn't quite cut it.

"BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE CHELSEA!!!" (notice the triple exclamation marks)


Much to our dismay, we had found a couple of new friends, who spent the next hour or so with us, discussing their disdain for Chelsea F.C. and how their Uncle is involved in 'the firm' of a popular London football club, who I cannot remember. If you look through my Amsterdam photos on Facebook, you will see him in a few. I have no need to tell you who he is. I think he's the kind of lad you just notice. For being a bit of a nutter.

As you would imagine, various other mishaps happened on our weekend away, so here are some of the best:

Bean ate 8 hotdogs, each from a different stand, in the space of an afternoon. It became a bit of a joke by number 6, 'the 'dam hotdog crawl '11'. And became a bit of a mess by number 2.

Phil smoked a pipe through his nose. It was really funny. It left him incredibly ill for two days.

Nick slept curled up on the bottom of my bed for a few hours. Then asked to get in. Then had the audacity to moan at me for only being in boxer shorts. He was fully clothed, including coat and shoes.

We accidentally walked into a Dutch national bar after I wrongly assumed it was playing the Liverpool game. We got coaxed into buying numerous beers whilst we got backed into the corner by 10 or so middle aged Dutchmen dancing to 'What's New Pussycat' followed by 'It's Not Unusual' followed by some sort of patriotic Dutch ballad.

Have a top 2012 everyone.