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With the Pope about to visit the UK, what better time to unburden yourself of anything that's weighing on your mind by posting it on the internet? Pay particular attention to the Seven Deadly Sins of lust, greed, envy, pride, posting puns on the QOTW board and the other ones. Top story gets to kneel before His Holiness's noodly appendage, or something

(, Thu 26 Aug 2010, 12:47)
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Tavistock Street Indian restaurant, Bedford, 1985
I'd like to issue an unreserved apology to the owners of this fine Indian restaurant, name sadly long forgotten, while I confess my sins and accept full responsibility, with as much blame and burden as they'd like to apportion. I blame the demon drink, coupled with jet lag, poor impulse control and a return to England after having been in Asia for several weeks.

We'd gone out, Paul, John and I, to the Park pub, where we'd reconnected after me having been away. The reconnection involved taking the piss out of each other while trying to drink the place dry of good bitter and Guinness. I like to think we gave it our best shot, but after 8 hours of drinking we seemed to be no nearer our lofty goal, and we needed to find something to eat. Off for a ruby, around 10pm.

I remember mopping my brow with a peshwari naan, as the sweats struck me hard. I really didn't feel well, and repaired to the toilets, careening off other diners, furniture, passing waiters and the buffet bar. Inside I downed keks and - here's my first really big mistake - leaned forward to rest my head in my hands. Just as an explosion of effluvium was propelled from me, my sphincter no longer able to withstand the pressure of the tidal wave of Guinness rampantly proceeding down my colon. I later claimed that the change in bacteria, from mucky South East Asian to old-fashioned and honest English, was also partially responsible, but understandably no-one was buying that.

The rear of the seat, the cistern, the wall, and much of the floor behind me was covered in a watery gruel of partially digested organic matter, reeking to high heaven. I couldn't stop, now that I had started. Out it continued to spurt. And then I threw up. I tried to get it in the toilet, really I did, but I daren't slide back on the seat else I'd be covered in what I had just produced from the other end.

And then my second big mistake - I went to sleep. Jet-lag and an ocean of Guinness just conspired against me. So I dozed in that reeking cess pit. While my friends ate my food, thinking I had left to go home. As they paid and got up to leave, a waiter intercepted them. "Are you forgetting something?" he asked. They couldn't think of anything obvious, until they were told "your friend is still in the bathroom."

Somehow they awoke me, and I made myself look almost human and opened they door. They were faced by a scene reminiscent of a cross between the Black Hole of Calcutta and the aftermath of Verdun or the Somme. Dragged me out of there, I felt fine as soon as the fresh air hit me, and we went for a night-closing pint.

So I'd like to unreservedly apologize to the owners of that restaurant, and in particular to the poor misfortunate soul who had to clean up the mess I made. I'm really, really sorry and hope you've recovered from the ordeal. If it's any consolation, I did the same thing at the place down near the railway station, and not only was their food nowhere near as good, but one of their waiters hit a drunk over the head with a warming tray when I was there. I much preferred your place, but dare never show my face again.

I mean, would you?

Length? Never mind the length, it was the volume that really mattered!
(, Sun 29 Aug 2010, 0:07, 4 replies)
This reminded me of another time drinking...
... with John, in Clifton, Bristol, watching the Five Nations (for we are both nuts for rugby). I'm guessing it was at least a good 6 hours on the lash.

We ended up in a posh restaurant, with my then-fiancee (it didn't last long - thankfully) and a female friend of hers. Where John and I continued to drink heavily. At one point I went to the bathroom and may have been gone a little while. When I came back to the table, John was under the impression I'd gone outside for some fresh air, and was looking for me. He returned to the table, gave me 20 quid to cover the meal, and told me "I'm going outside to look for Large Hardon Collider."

I'd lost the power of speech by then, and he stumbled out, regarded by me with gratitude (who wouldn't want a friend like that?) and by the two females with incredulity (why had he just told LHC that he was going to go looking for LHC?)
(, Sun 29 Aug 2010, 0:31, closed)
I think the apology
should probably be accompanied by a cheque for the poor person/people who had to clean that.
(, Sun 29 Aug 2010, 5:00, closed)
...I'm just pleased to have got it off my chest.
(, Mon 30 Aug 2010, 8:31, closed)
This made me laugh
I am easily satisfied.
(, Wed 1 Sep 2010, 15:57, closed)

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