I should have hundreds of tales
considering I'm often to be found in a club at the weekend. For years I've knocked about Glasgow, and can often be found looking slightly out of place in the Cathouse, looking slightly out of place in Walkabout, or looking slightly out of place in Campus or ABC.

Years ago, however, the farthest afield I'd venture was Hamilton, to the deceptively classy sounding Palace. Being in the Palace is akin to watching Hollyoaks whilst drunk, the clientelle fall into two distinct age groups, 16-18 and 45-80, "ladies" wear as little as is possible (but enough to cover concealed weapons/drugs) and the music..... well let's not sweeten the pill, it's shit.

Now, the last time I was there was at the tender age of 22, at a mate's stag do. Four of us had been merrily necking vodka and foul little concoctions called Sidekicks in my mates local, and a quick, hair raising journey later (taxi driver steering with his knees at 110mph while on the phone and drinking coffee!) we were in the palace. My mates best friend got a round in, and supplemented it with a bottle of champagne..... the first time I had drunk champagne, asit happens. It was horrible, but then, all alcohol tasted horrible, back then, so I coped in the usual way. I necked it.

We got through a bottle and on to another. I felt fine. Needed a quick wazz though, so I made my excuses and trotted off to the toilet. So there I am, in a queue for a cubicle. The bog-goblin sprays someone with cologne. I'm next in line. Tum-te-tum, not long nowohGodohGodwhereamI?IfeelsickohChristI'mdying!!! The champagne hit me like a ton of bricks! I had always been quite the little drinker before but champagne just destroyed me. I fell into the cubicle as soon as it was free and collapsed onto the pan.

How long I was asleep I don't know, but it couln't have been long because no-one had banged on the door. I had spewed thick brown vomit all over the floor. I somehow got back out into the club before anyone noticed but my friends were gone, and I was so disoriented I didn't know where to look for them. I staggered downstairs, finding my way into a smaller, quieter bar. I remember buying a sidekick from the bar and not drinking it, but I still couldn't find my friends. I did the only sane thing. I toddled off to the toilets, these ones pleasantly deserted apart from the bog-goblin, stuck my head down the pan and passed out.

The bog-goblin threw me out half an hour later.

I found my mates in the queue at the pizza shop, minus the best man who had also went AWOL. A bit more sober, I waited in the queue for 20 minutes, and as I approached the front, the guy behind the counter shouted "1 cheese & onion pizza and aportion of chicken pakora". Fast as lightning, the best man popped out of the crowd, shouted "that'll do me!" grabbed the bag and with a "cheers!" strode back out the shop.

It wasn't his. He didn't even pay. We found him finishing it off in the middle of the road, surrounded by half dressed girls.

He became a legend for that. My own adventure had a less glorious end. I sat in some chwing gum and ruined an otherwise (amazingly) unmarked suit.

Great days.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 14 Apr 2009, 2:38, 4 replies)

Bog goblin.
Not heard that before.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Tue 14 Apr 2009, 11:38, closed)

I learned that one
on B3ta, can't remember who :)
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 14 Apr 2009, 14:46, closed)

22?
You got to the age of 22 without drinking champagne?

Wow.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 14 Apr 2009, 14:00, closed)

Yup!
Not much cause before then...... mind, I only started drinking lager last year, 13 years of spirits destroyed my guts :(
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 14 Apr 2009, 14:48, closed)