» That's me on TV!

Impersonating a woman
This could have gone in the Festivals question if I'd gotten there quick enough. My mum's sister Valerie was supposed to be going to Glastonbury last year, but in the end she couldn't make it, and asked if I wanted her ticket.

I jumped at the chance. Massive Attack, Jay-Z, Leonard Cohen, Jimmy Cliff, Seasick Steve? Fuck yeah. However, if you've been to Glastonbury in the last couple of years, you'll realise the problem I had at this point.

Photo ID.

Each ticket now has a photo of yourself on it. You can't really substitute tickets between people, to stop touting. And it's unfortunately very effective. So to get into the festival, I was going to have to pose as a 48-year-old woman. But I fucking well did it. It's a good thing I have lovely legs, am a hairless wonder with a surprisingly androgynous face and am fairly short (some people might say I was destined for a moment like this). Doing the classic Moss-chic thing of wellies, a miniskirt (yes, obviously borrowed from a friend) and a hoodie, the family likeness got me past the initial ticket checks, got my wristband and festival bags, and in!

Upon which I was immediately confronted by a BBC TV crew.

"Hi, we're doing some interviews for our coverage this year - what's your name?"

No "do you mind doing an interview". Bastards. I was still in earshot of the security, who were looking on in amusement. Oh crap. Okay, high voice but not too high....

"Valerie!"
"Hi Valerie! Is this your first Glastonbury?"
"Er... no!"
(at this point I realised I was speaking in a Scottish accent. Oh well, too late, plough on)
"So how many have you been to then?"
"...four!"
"Oh wow, a bit of a veteran then! So what's been your best Glastonbury moment?"
"...Radiohead!"
"And the worst?"
"...rain last year!"
"...okay, well thanks Valerie! Have a good festival!"

I'd gotten away with it, thanks to my lilting, breathy Scottish accent (I was almost turning myself on by the end of it) and my monosyllabic answers. But by the end, I was truly able to say that...

...I've been Auntie V.
(Fri 12th Jun 2009, 23:46, More)

» Nightclubs

Only just remembered
Holy fuck, how did I not recall this before? This needs to be in here.

Just over a year ago I was in Cardiff's premier student spot, Solus nightclub in the student union. I was out with my newly agreed housemates on a pre-living-together outing when I spotted a girl being strangled.

Seriously, some dickhead had a belt round her neck on the dancefloor. I went over and with my customary good grace told him to "fuck off and stop being such a fucking knob".

(in another bravado-related incident a couple of months beforehand I had told a group of lairy chavs to "CALM THE FUCK DOWN" at the top of my voice. Surprisingly, they did)

Well, the girl was very grateful. And her friend was very appreciative. Her friend also had something about her that I found extremely attractive, and to wit, I spent a few minutes working my frankly resistable charm. And lo and behold, it worked, and vigorous tongueplay took place for much of the rest of the night.

I'd forgotten her name, of course. So when her friend came to the bar while we were buying drinks later and said "So.. you and Nicola blah blah blah whocaresimnotlisteninganymoreyoujustgotmeoutofahole" I was very happy. Still, I fancied more.

Now this is where it gets interesting. Anyone ever read a book called the Dice Man? If you haven't, it's about a guy who governs his life by rolling dice for every decision he makes and then does what the dice command.

Now while I wasn't going to go as far as he did (I'm not into rape and murder) I had thought it would be a good way to decide things I don't care about - which drink do I want? Which club do we go to? etc - and maybe inject a bit of spontaneity into my life, which had become rather stale and shit since a bad break-up the previous year.

So at this point, I had two dice in my pocket.

A plan formed. A few minutes later, with a mischievous smile, I laid my trap.

"So... tell me, have you ever wanted to be more spontaneous?"
"Well, of course, why?"
"I'm going to roll these two dice. Less than five, we go and have sex now. Less than ten, we wait until later. More than ten, we don't have sex tonight. Deal?"
"...yeah, okay."

In like Flynn! I am a golden God! I am the Prince Of Punani! I am flying by the pre-emptive feeling of my balls ridding themselves of 10cc of unnecessary semen. The more mathematically-minded of you may also notice that I had strategically put the odds utterly in my favour, insofar as there was a mere 1 in 12 chance of failure to get myself well and truly laid that night.

...rolled a fucking 11.
(Wed 15th Apr 2009, 17:22, More)

» Unexpected Nudity

While travelling a couple of years ago
Oh, what a question. I was in India with my friend Ted (great guy, even if we did get at each other's throats this particular trip. he had a highly interesting sense of politeness - the type of guy that tells people to say "please" and "thank you" no matter how much of a pompous ass it makes him sound, but will quite happily call you a cumguzzling piglicker when he's angry), jaunting round Mumbai in a hired rickshaw. We'd found some work with a local restaurant, basically trying to drum up business for them. I say "restaurant" I mean "KFC".

And of course what it meant was a fucking chicken suit.

Me and Ted frequently got into arguments about who was going to wear the chicken suit, especially on hot days (and it REALLY gets hot in Mumbai). It smelt fucking horrific after only a couple of hours of wearing it, and we were going to be doing it for at least two weeks. It was a hardship I was willing to put up with though, as it allowed us to indulge in the finer points of Mumbai's nightlife. Honestly, if you've never been, it's superb. Gorgeous, modern-thinking girls with old-fashioned manners, jazz, hip-hop and rock clubs, and no vomiting drunken twats in sight. Not sure how it's held up after the events of last year (which really got to me, for obvious reasons), but it was amazing when I was there.

But right at this moment, I was not in a sophisticated, air-conditioned bar drinking whisky and chatting to exotic beauties.

I was in a chicken suit. And it was burning.

We'd been driving round for a while trying to find a good patch, and Ted had gotten us hopelessly lost. We were far from the bustling centre of the city and it looked like we were heading further and further into the suburbs and slums. We just thought "fuck it" and decided to explore for the day. We came across rubbish tips and workhouses and markets and god knows what else in the next hour or so, and then, as we slowly moved down a side street in the middle of the most crowded districts, we saw her.

A stunning, perfect example of the subcontinent's beauty. Long black hair, beautiful skin, the deepest, brownest, gorgeous eyes. Dressed in the most ornate sari, covered in jewellery, surrounded by admirers, it was like a scene from a Bollywood musical. Except without the music and dancing. So, er, I guess, a scene from India. She was sitting in the middle of what was apparently a town square, seemingly holding audience with the people around her, serene and beautiful, an oasis of calm in an endless desert of madness. I was in love.

Anyway, I was still in this fucking chicken suit. Did I neglect to mention I was naked underneath? I think I did. Well, I was. It gets hot in Mumbai. So I couldn't take it off. Not me, anyway. Clearly some of the previous contributors would have no qualms about ditching the fucking thing and riding round Mumbai naked in a rickshaw, but I have some more class than that. So I still had my chicken suit on. I couldn't get out and confront this vision of goddess-like beauty wearing a sodding chicken suit. Oh no. I stayed in the bloody rickshaw out of sight.

Ted, though, unencumbered by the avian ensemble, could. So the fucker did. He walked enraptured, in a trance, through the middle of the bowed crowd, towards her. Serenely, she carried on talking, until he got to a couple of metres from her, at which she looked up, startled, and flew to her feet. Ted also looked startled at this sudden display of activity, as did the rest of the crowd, who abandoned their heads-down positions. She demanded of him, (in English, obviously noting his western appearance) "Who are you, intruder?"

Ted upgraded from startled to panicked as he realised he had obviously stumbled into some kind of voodoo ceremony.

"Erm, erm, I'm Ted, hi, so sorry, I didn't mea-"

"You have disturbed our sacred rites."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it!"

I confess I was laughing my ass off at this point, although my laughing was tempered by the possibility of Ted being pulled apart by an angry mob. We argued, but I liked him, so of course I thought "Aw squawking hell, I'm going to have to go rescue the bugger."

But Ted was already being demonized by this priestess or whatever she was -

"I call on the Gods to curse you! Send us a messenger, O great deities!"

"No no, no need for that, I'm just going, alright, see, I'm leaving!"

At this point I leapt from the rickshaw, determined to rescue my buddy from a grisly end and earn his eternal gratitude, plus the right to laugh at him forever for his shit-yourself backtracking.

But the chicken suit had an unexpected effect.

I was cheered by the crowd as I emerged from between the buildings at a run. They crowed at me and whooped and bowed as their priestess, admittedly, looked rather shocked that her calls for a messenger from the Gods had apparently been answered. But she was a smart one. She quickly composed herself and shouted "A new deity! The gods have sent us a new deity!" And then she picked up on the form of the new deity, and she knew what she had to do.

She called for the very worst curse a chicken could ever enact on a human being.

"An hex! Peck Ted, new deity!"

....I am so very, very sorry.
(Thu 28th May 2009, 16:53, More)

» The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

I don't know if it's evil, or beautiful
I found out my girlfriend had cheated on me while away at the Download festival a few days before. Gutted, but most of all annoyed with myself (I'd been mentally beating myself up all weekend for being paranoid and distrustful - with what turned out to be absolute accuracy) I dumped her, and within a couple of days slept with another girl who had been quite into me before I got together with the girlfriend.

The girlfriend was devastated. She spent a week trying to contact me and apologise, telling me she loved me, had made a huge mistake and needed me back, etc etc. I told her she could shove it, but of course I did so in rather more apoplectic and rageful terms.

Eventually, after much pleading, I agreed to see her for five minutes, with absolutely no intention of giving the bitch any hope whatsoever.

She pleaded her case. I gave her no short shrift in telling her how little I cared. Realising she had no hope of changing my mind, she walked off into the Swansea night in tears, with about four miles to walk home and no money for a taxi.

I, despite my anger, am a fucking pathetic wuss at heart, and about a minute later I relented, because I could not let a young woman walk home alone late at night. So I phoned her, told her to come back and stay and then leave in the morning.

So she stayed with me, and she kissed me, and then she kissed me again, and then the kiss turned into pissed-off, resentful sex. And at the end of the pissed-off, resentful sex, with my unsheathed cock still dripping inside her, I said to her "You realise nothing's changed, don't you?"

In retrospect, it was quite unsurprising that she burst into tears.
(Sun 15th Mar 2009, 22:09, More)

» Housemates

Various weirdos, morons and the occasional legend
Kris was a Welsh rugby boy from Pontypridd. I used to have to tell him what he'd done after pretty much every night out since he could never remember anything.

Kris fancied a girl from upstairs called Jo. One weekend, Jo brought her 16-year old sister Fran to visit. We all went out and got fucked. Fran more than anyone else, since she got fucked by Kris.

In the morning, Jo came downstairs and knocked on Kris's door. Her sister opened the door, walked out without saying a word and went upstairs. Jo stood at the door, looking at Kris, who was still in bed. Kris comes out with the following, immortal line.

"Okay. Does this, in any way, affect my chances with you?"
(Sun 1st Mar 2009, 18:53, More)