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This is a question Morning After Souvenirs

I once woke up in a tent after a particularly drunken holiday pub crawl, clutching a tap. There's a drowned, sunken village somewhere in Wales because of my act of petty theft, but I cannot remember. Tell us what - or who - you've brought back from nights out.

(Suggested by Bicycle Repairman)

(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 13:44)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I'm enjoying the tales.
But this is really like Show & Tell time at an AA meeting.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 23:38, 12 replies)
A prisoner
Everyone reacts differently to alcohol. When I lived with allot of people in a big old house I would say that a full spectrum of drunk stereotypes were represented. After £1 vodka-redbull night, our groups primary shared interest at the time, this was plain to see.

Around about 2am one housemate (H) was starting to get slightly annoying. Another housemate (J) took on this as a challenge.

J: "Right H, if you don't shut up I'm going to put you away in jail"

H:"Try me"

At this point, the other housemates decided to join in on J's side. As we agreed with him about the shutting up part, but mostly we wanted to see where this was going. After some manhandling, we finally got H behind bars. Furiously H began to shout "let me out" and " want a lawyer" while we retired to watch Dr Who using the volume to drown him out.

The morning after I came down into the kitchen for some aspirin and a cup of tea. Putting the kettle on I saw H was back and clearly hungover.

"What happened last night? why am I here?"

"Oh, you were being an arse, so we put you there and convinced drunk you that you were actually in prison. Fancy a brew?"

H replied in the affirmative, as he climbed out from underneath the upturned shopping trolley he had spend the night in.

I never woke up to find a prisoner again. Probably as now within our group, a shout of 'Trolley!' was now a huge hint that you should stop being an arse.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 22:32, 1 reply)
Washing machine and give way sign
Were a birthday present we found for a guy on the way home from the pub. He claims it was the best birthday presents he ever had.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 22:29, Reply)
Public Transport ftw
A 'quick one after work' turned into a session. Next thing I knew I was well over the limit. For once I decided to do the sensible thing and take a bus home.

How I managed to park it is anyone's guess.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 22:12, 1 reply)
More memories than souvenirs
But myself and another member of these fine boards used to get drunk and spend the early hours of the morning making up miniature protest banners which read such things as "I hate fishing!", "This hat make me look stupid!" and "Rights for gnomes". We would then go out at about 3 am and rearrange the gardens of any houses with a certain popular garden ornament.

In retrospect this does seem rather silly but we didn't break anything and I can't help but giggle at the thought of the home owners opening their front door in the morning to find all their garden gnomes carefully arranged as if marching up their garden path in protest against their mistreatment.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 21:52, 2 replies)
Not me but a friend of mine....
...woke up after a particularly messy night out in London. On the floor, in his room, a bit of "street furniture" - as you do when you're a student - in this case a street name sign - "Tavistock Square WC1H"

Me, staggering into his room, looks, in awe, at the bounty of the previous night.

"Where did you get that from?!" ... I asked.

"Where'd you f&*%ing think....."

I was rather hung over, honest!
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 21:21, Reply)
A cash register
The old-style, with big clunky mechanical buttons and little metal numbers that pop up into the glass window at the top accompanied by a "kerching" noise.

Brought home on a fridge door. Across a dual carriageway. Which we ran across (somewhat unwisely) in front of a police car.

To cap the evening, we left it on the kitchen table where it bemused Jim, our down to earth Yorkshire-born flatmate when he staggered home from a rugby club social. We spirited it away to a mate's house the next morning, which bemused Jim even further. "There was a fookin cash register on 't fookin kitchen table!". We kept straight faces and wound him up; great fun was had by all.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 21:16, Reply)
One of my mates woke up to find a topper dinghy balanced
on the roof of his Astra. Neither I, nor the other people he left at the pub early so that he could go home for hiding of the sausage with his girlfriend, could possibly be able to explain how this happened. Definitely nothing to do with us, officer.

NINJA EDIT for the boat
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:52, 2 replies)
List of mundane items
Golf flag x2
Knackered elbow (mine, flashbacks of a shopping trolley and a wall)
A woman's shoe
A road sign
A shopping trolley
Garden plant
Illegibly scrolled telephone number on a cig packet
A coconut
Something 'important' written on my calendar - a furious looking drunken scribble on the 25th March 2010 - not sure what was so important.

Erm probably lots of other shit too. It's the calendar one that worries me the most. What have I missed?
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:47, Reply)
Woke up fully dressed, with a sore patch on the back of one thigh.
Got up, staggered to the bog, tried to lower the jeans, and found that they were stuck to the sore spot.

With some effort I tore them off and found that they were glued to my thigh with stiff coagulated blood.

I had a deep 'M'-shaped cut, which had bled profusely. Not sure where it came from, though I had been out on the piss with my brother Mark the night before. I prefer to cling to the vague memory of a nail protruding from a toilet seat.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:43, Reply)
Bus stops - the gift that never stops giving
Where had we been? History doesn't relate. But given that the sign in question was on ******* Road, just up from the town's Curry Mile (not quite - one street with four curryhouses on it, none of them very good) and a bit along from some pubs, it's fair to guess that some drink and a curry had been involved.

And lo, a bus stop sign was sighted. And lo, the local bus company were a bunch of thieving busmunchers anyway and, over the years, had collectively caused us aggro well over the value of the bus stop sign. Probably over the value of an entire fricking bus, in fact. And lo, the bus stop sign was not attached very firmly to the lamp-post. In fact it could drop on anyone's head any moment now and was clearly a POTENTIAL DEATH TRAP. It was our civic duty to remove it. Ok, it was my civic duty to remove it. I don't think anyone else was quite as seized with the urgency of the moment as I was.

It came off quite easily. Wahey, I have a beer trophy.

And back to B+L's place we go. The next day, well, I'm not taking a ruddy bus stop sign back on the train with me, it's actually quite large and heavy and I've got a two mile walk at the other end. So I left it with our generous hosts. They were probably not best impressed, but clearly they had a cunning plan.

The cunning plan was, on the occasion of my wedding two months later, to wrap up the bus stop sign and present it as a kind and thoughtful wedding gift. How kind, I shall treasure it forever.

Damn. What do I do with this now?

What I do is stash it in the garage and forget about it. Until two years later, when B+L also decide to tie the knot. What could we get them? Maybe a cut-glass decanter. Maybe a Royal Doulton dinner service or whatever it is Royal Doulton do. (Where is Doulton anyway?) Maybe a nice picture of something.

I know! We'll get them a bus stop sign.

And so it is wrapped up in nice paper, etc. etc., here comes the bride, do you take this woman, I do, let's have a party, and of course, how kind, I shall treasure it forever.

A year later another mutual friend gets married. B+L think: what shall we get them? Hm, maybe a cut-glass decanter. Maybe some Royal Doulton. No! I know! We'll get them a bus stop sign. And so it has gone on. I think it's now on the fifth couple.

But actually, now, our friends have stopped getting married. It might be because those who were going to get married, have got married. It might be because there's a recession on and these things are expensive. I don't think so. I think it's more that no-one wants a bus stop sign any more.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:22, Reply)
Rotten hangover the next day as expected,
after a very drunken night ending in a good and proper night of raunchy sexy time with a woman I'd fancied for a while. The headache was to be expected, but what I couldn't understand was the slight buzz in my head. Jumping in the shower I found that somehow during the night of passion her nicotine patch had become attached to me, and being a non-smoker I was getting a full dose of an extra strong nicotine patch. Meanwhile, she was equally badly hung over and craving a fag something rotten.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:22, 1 reply)
Mine's rubbish
In the late 1990s, the capital was regularly plastered with fly-posters plugging the latest sounds in the hit parade. On one night out in the Big Smoke, I spied one such poster for one of my favourite tunes of the moment, Air's sublime Sexy Boy. The poster was ace - A minimal affair with the main focus being a picture of the iconic monkey from the video and CD sleeve.

This poster was attached to one of those green junction boxes on the pavement, and was pretty much peeling off (along with the 45 posters underneath it, over which it had been pasted). I give it a quick tug. Then, when I'd calmed down, I carefully pulled at the poster and - Huzzah! It came away in one piece. I'd just bagged a cool free poster!

What with it actually being a stack of posters glued together, one on top of the other, it was able to stand up by itself. And so, back home, it took pride of place in my bedroom, propped up on a radiator.

It was only when the heating came on the next day that I realised exactly how many passers-by had used that junction box as an impromptu urinal.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:20, 2 replies)
Talisman of his journeys
After the festivities, I found I was in the possession of an empty wallet. Didn't recognize the picture on the driver's license, or the name, but decided to return it to the listed address.

Unfamiliar, evil-looking neighborhood. The fellow wasn't at home, but his relieved mother was. "No surprise the wallet's empty," she said sunnily. To her, the wallet was a talisman of her son's many wanderings. At that point, he had been on a drunken walkabout for four days. Keep her in mind, she asked, if I heard any new reports.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 20:16, Reply)
I'm pretty certain this is a "your mum" opportunity.

(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 19:54, 6 replies)
My birthday night out
I awoke to find i was wearing

A pink cowboy hat
Harry potter glasses
A bow tie
A pink sash saying 'birthday princess'
A childs' plastic lunch-box

I have photographic evidence of myself wearing the above mentioned 'outfit'. I'd rather not share.

A friend of mine once went into his living room to find a set of temporary traffic lights
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 19:36, Reply)
Everting the Stomach - or Roast in the Key of Pea
Once, when my coccyx was healthier and I was extreeeemely foolish, I decided to try to mix rubbing alcohol with Kool-Aid. This didn't work so well and likely decreased my lifespan, so my friend Georg and I ended up throwing it out.

Always the enterprising lad, Georg then stole a bottle of vodka from his dad and we added this to a half gallon of red Kool-Aid. Result!

When we finished, we were so happy we decided to go a few houses down to an older girl's house who had a pool. Now, I had earlier espied this brown skinned babe skinny dipping with her skinny and fat friends (honestly, I was just checking the top of the wall for cracks)and it seemed extra sexy to have a naked swim in her pool at 3am.

For some reason, this seemed like a major turn-on and I couldn't get the flag pole down. The large amount of sweetened Vodka, added to my first try of chewing tobacco (vile stuff) and the weird sensation of swimming with an unjustified boner caused me to become very sick.

I don't remember, but I apparently gorped on the plastic astroturf they had put around their pool and passed out. Georg had to take me, naked as a Croatian, back to my house and left me starkers in the back garden. I somehow made it inside and awoke the next morning to find my "Live at Leeds" inner sleeve covered in faeces and a huge dump in my clothes hamper. Over a decade later and you can still see the red puke stain by their pool.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 18:56, 5 replies)
some of the things i've woken up with
an axe. no idea where it came from.
a porcelain clown. creepy as hell.
the strap off one of my best wedgies. where the rest of said wedgies went, i've never found out.
a vase.
a push n' go toy hoover.
a baby's head protector thing, the ones you put on them to keep the soap out of their eyes when you wash their hair. this became my drinking hat.
a barbecue rib in my mouth and my head in the fireplace.
7 snooker chalks.
a mic stand.
several sets of pub quiz answer sheets.
a karaoke song book.
there's more, but i'll have to add them later.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 18:13, Reply)
I once took the wrong jacket home from a party. It looked like mine
Not the best anecdote, granted. But in this case it had the bloke's passport in the inner pocket. He was due to fly out on some holiday to Vietnam that weekend, and I fucked it all up for him.
Actually, it wasn't vietnam, it was kidderminster by train. And it wasn't his passport either. And I live in Guam so I've never owned a jacket in my life, I'm not even sure why I mentioned this detail. And when I said bloke and party, I actually meant to say lamp and lampstore. But apart from that every word is true. Except that last sentence.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 18:04, 3 replies)
Dead hamster
My sister Susan decided to spruce up the hamster cage with thin layers of wood, like a log cabin effect.

We woke up the next day to find that unfortunately the fumes from the glue had killed the hamster!

We were really sad!


mourning after Sue Veneers!
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 18:01, 1 reply)
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 17:46, 2 replies)
Drink? I like to stay in control.
That's why I ended up coming home from the pub with a road traffic Stop / Go sign. No idea where it came from.

My girlfriend at the time said I kept spinning it around and saying "GO make me a cuppa"! and later "STOP yelling at me"!
Then I became overcome with dread and fear of imminent Police invasion so I hid the sign in the shed and full in a bush.

The next week I fell in a ditch and tried to convince the missus I was muddy and late because I'd been chased by a headless horseman, of all things.

Wonder why she left?!
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 17:25, 3 replies)
Also, in my first year of uni
I awoke the morning after the Christmas party feeling like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer made out of vodka, and with a full pint glass of Ribena balanced on my chest.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 17:11, Reply)
I woke up in the chariot that had been stolen to get me home.

Apparently I was offered up to all the passers by on the way home, but nobody wanted a sleeping Gormo.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 17:09, 3 replies)
Woke up on the sofa with a headache and a roaring thirst,
reached for an open bottle of beer, took a swig, and then spat out the marinated cigarette butts.
Conventional morning after the night before story follows...,
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 17:06, 1 reply)
October 13th, 2011
International suit up day. Sadly, I had no shirt. It was 4am, so I (along with my friend W) decided to cycle to the 24 hour asda a few miles away.

Did I mention I had drunk half a bottle of whisky?

I woke up the next morning clutching a box of chocolate muffins, a can of polish energy drink, a two litre bottle of coke and some vague memories of being thrown out of asda for causing a scene in the biscuit isle. And no shirt.

Also, I had ridden into a bridge support on the way home, so I couldn't move my right shoulder or either of my thumbs.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 17:00, Reply)
Let it be…

I’m really not sure about posting this, considering the amount of detail I am going to provide, even though it does not specifically involve me. Hey ho, let’s crack on…

The date was June 15th, 1968. I was not even an itch in my dad’s nads at the time, yet the present Mrs Pooflake’s Mum was flinging herself thighboot deep into the end of the swinging sixties. You’d be quite flabbergasted to understand that she was a Beatles fan, as I understand a few others shared her admiration of that particular beat combo around that time.

Motherflake-in-law (M.I.L) was busying herself dabbling into whatever young sorts did in the 60’s (If you’re young and unsure about what occured around that time, I believe there are some documentaries available), and was busy partaking in such radical experiences with a girl who was at that time her best friend.

She and her friend had something in common. Rebellion. M.I.L was brought up into a snobbish, almost puritan upbringing, and her friend was part of a very religious family. Sorry, did I say ‘religious’? What I meant to say was quite.fuckingly.bastardly.religious. In fact, her friend’s father was at that time the Verger of Coventry Cathedral. You get the idea.

The free-spirited, short-skirted, screaming at boys’ nature of these strong willed young ladies successfully managed to confuse and appall both sets of parents respectively to their wit’s end. I mean, these girls even occasionally wore leather jackets FFS! They should’ve been locked up.

Back to the date in question. It was a fine summer’s day, and Coventry was awash with the kind of activity that only occurs when people more important than the likes of us can be arsed to turn up…and this day was no different. Our unworthy, preposterous, shitheap of a city was going to be visited by none other than John Lennon (legend) and Yoko Ono (*facepalms*)

They were there on a mission…a mission of peace, togetherness and all that other bollocks they repeatedly bleated about. But how could they fully express their extreme dedication to plant-hugging, hippy crap? …They hadn’t yet conjured up the frankly fruitlooped idea of lounging about in a massive fartsack for yonks in some American hotel room yet, but they were determined on this day to make some meaningful stand.

So what did they do? Throw a sort of ‘Live aid’ event? Nah. A charity auction perhaps? I’m afraid not. What they did instead was plant a couple of fucking acorns that was in some way meant to symbolise love, harmony and no doubt better living accomodation for squirrels or something.

However, the location of this ridiculous publicity stunt happened to be at our very own Coventry Cathedral. So of course, having somebody ‘on the inside’ as it were, my M.I.L and her friend were allowed unprecedented access to these pointless proceedings. They were instantly the envy of their friends, and most of the teenage girls in the country, if not the world. In accordance to the importance of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, They thought they should prepare…

They decided to spend the day getting spacktardedly ratarsed on some home made cider they had blagged. This was the type that has bits of rat-hair and straw in it, and makes you go mental…then blind…then dead a bit.

Once suitably refreshed, they embarked on the Cathedral, snuck through the residential entrance, and barged the throngs of fans and media out of the way. “My Dad runs this gaff, he could have you killed!” My M.I.L’s friend spat at everybody who dared prevent them getting closer to their hero (and Yoko).

Eventually they made it to within a few yards of the couple. “WOOOO! John! Joooooooohhhhnn! I LOOOOOOVE YOU!!!!!!!” My M.I.L squawked, whilst making ‘kissy’ faces and attempting to thrust her hips provocatively at him. “Oi, YOKO! FUCK OFF!” her friend kindly bellowed whilst waving two fingers, just to add her particular ‘panache’ to the happy atmosphere.

They were largely ignored, and the ceremony merrily chuntered to it’s conclusion. Soon, it was time for everyone to piss off and leave the planted acorns under the bench where they had been stuck. The place cleared rapidly after the celebs had departed, and my MIL and her friend celebrated by starting to quaff the scotch from her mate’s dad’s liquor cabinet.

However, soon they were alone…properly alone, inside the grounds that had now long been been locked to the general public, and they thought to themselves ‘What shall we do now…?’

I’m sure you can guess what they did.

In a heartbeat, they staggered out wearily to the bench in the grounds where this statement of world love and understanding had been sited…They dropped to their knees, briefly looked at each other, then promptly dug the fucking acorns up that had been planted just a couple of hours before.

Sometime later, when there wasn’t so much as a twig sprouting from the ground, suspicions started to materialise that perhaps some peace-hating fucker had half-inched the acorns. Everyone felt a bit stupid. My M.I.L and her mate wisely remained tight lipped. The story here states: ‘Tourists dug up the acorns and Lennon had a row with the exhibition organizers over the moving of the bench that had been sitting above the acorn ground". My hairy arse was it 'Tourists'! My M.I.L kept hers for years before it finally got lost somewhere in the midst of time. Her friend, however, also kept hers (They were too pissed to remember who had John’s and who had Yoko’s btw) and she may still have it.

However, at this point the story gets quite surreal. Later on in life, my M.I.L. friend sorted herself out, got into religion and actually ended up spending some time as the Verger of the aforementioned Cathedral. Once, during an interview she was asked her opinion of the acorn theft. She replied: “I have no idea who did it, but it’s a tragic and senseless act” Pfft!

I used to think that my generation was the first to do naughty stuff. I obviously haven’t got a fucking clue.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 16:48, 11 replies)
B3ta bash, London, June 2010.
Spurned the advances of Sexface, pulled a b3tan midget, married him and had a child. Expensive night out.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 16:47, 6 replies)
vodka be thy name
Arrived as a friend of a friend at a 'house party'(in that it was a party at a house), there was a lovely spread of food, a pool I somehow avoided in the garden, lots of posh folk and me. I decided to drink lots to give me confidence, a classic choice. I mixed vodka and orange. Then the orange ran out, so I drank from the bottle, got through about half of one of those big pub style bottles of vodka and joined a game of 'drink while you think'. Someone then mentioned the roof, I think.

"I could jump off the roof" thinks I. So I found my way through the house to the window that lead to the roof. Managed to get the 'crowd' slow clapping, then jumped, and landed on my arse. I was ok.

"I could do that again" thinks I. So I do. Similar outcome. Apart from something that at the time I remember 'stinging'.

Then when I tried a third time I remember being dragged back down the stairs, bonking my head on every step.

Then I remember waking up in a sleeping bag, surrounded by everyone else.
I went outside to get some fresh air and noticed a big arse shaped divot in the lawn. Then I remembered it all. I also remembered the pain in my mouth, the stinging.

I'd managed to bite part of the side of my tongue upon landing the second time. Not hard enough to peirce the skin and probably bleed a lot, but enough to have a huge white blister looking wound and enough to still have a teeth mark scar in the side of my tongue.

And so the scar is what I brought back from that night out.

And a hatred of Vodka.
(, Thu 26 Apr 2012, 16:45, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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