Notwombat
.
Notwombat was a mate from way back when the rocks were soft (early '80's) and looked as hard as nails. Typical Hells-Angel type biker - greasy jeans, scuffed leathers and a Levi cut-off as a waistcoat. He wasn't a tall bloke, about five foot eight, but he was almost as broad as was tall. Long, frizzy-curly hair and a ZZ-Top like beard.

Got the picture?

So a big crowd of us were down from Newcastle and raising hell in Manchester. We were wandering around the student area (Oxford Road) going from bar to bar quaffing copious amounts of ale and generally taking over any pub we went into. And then we ended up in a Halls Of Residence Bar. We were messing about, chatting up the ladies, playing pool and basically having a good time.

Then the call came to move on. Most of our crowd headed for the doors,and the next pub, leaving me, Notwombat and another bloke behind to finish our beers.

But something was amiss. While our full crew was in the bar, some rugger-buggers were foaming at the mouth of our invasion of their bar. They didn't want to kick up a fuss when they were seriously outnumbered but now all of our mob had left except the three of us in a table in the corner. Time to teach those hairy-arsed bikers a lesson.

So we were drinking at our table, chatting and laughing and enjoying ourselves when 6 of these heroes surrounded us.

"OK hardmen. You and us - outside - NOW!" grated one of them.

Bugger. My arse began to twitch. Two to one odds and they were all bigger than me.

Then Notwombat looked at them and smiled. He picked up his bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale put the neck in his mouth and bit down. The neck shattered and he spat the broken glass out through his bleeding lips and he pointed the jagged end towards the boys.

"OK. I'm ready. Let's do this" and stood up.

They ran like Gary Glitter spotting an Open Day in an infants school.

We left, unscathed.

Cheers.

Oh. Sorry. The faking it? Notwombat couldn't knock the skin off a rice pudding. He was the worst fighter in the world. He was regularly beaten up by his girlfriend who weighed about 6 stone and he was known to cry at Lassie films. His one and only claim to fame was his trick of biting the heads off beer bottles.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:22, 5 replies)

Why
was he called notwombat?
( Bazongaloid, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:32, closed)

Sigh....
.
I write a lovely story about mindless violence and you want to know about his name.

OK.

The reason he's called Notwombat was because another of our mob was called Wombat. He looked similar to the gut in the story and was often mistaken for him. This didn't sit well.

So, one night, after several people calling him Wombat, he started drunkingly ranting:

"GET IT RIGHT!!"

"I'M NOT WOMBAT"

"I'M NOT WOMBAT"

"I'M NOT WOMBAT"

So, of course, we all replied.:

"OK, NOTWOMBAT!!"

And the name stuck.

The pub? The City Tavern?

The era? 1981 when Norman The Puff still ran it...

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:40, closed)

Oh I liked
the story, but the name intrigued me.
( Bazongaloid, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:51, closed)

I love your stories of old.
And each story has a new character in it : )
( girlinthehole, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 17:38, closed)

Now the obvious...
Why did you have a friend called Wombat?

Oh, nice story tho'.
( gareth_alien will be human again at, Mon 14 Jul 2008, 13:24, closed)