The Story of Rik
This is the story of Rik. Well, it’s a story about him anyway. We almost share a birthday together, and are just about best mates. We’ve known each other for over 20 years (bearing in mind we’re 25), went to the same school from age four and lived within a five minute walk of each other. We have many things in common, borderline alcoholism being prime amongst them which brings us neatly to our story.

We were having a leaving do for a friend of ours who was off (and is still off) travelling around the world. It all started off sensibly enough – a Bloody Mary and a pint before lunch. Lunch comes, lunch goes. Slowly. The effect of a slow lunch is obvious to anyone that has been out on one with a bunch of lads – alcohol is consumed at an ever increasing rate in ever increasing quantities. Thankfully, some of the booze was soaked up by the food. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much.

So – a dozen or so fairly drunk guys in a relatively deserted restaurant attached to a pub, and what do they have on the side? A Jungle Jim. Cue a dozen or so fairly drunk guys running in mob-handed and throwing themselves about. So Rik, the Rik who as ever has been hitting the booze a bit harder than anyone else, throws himself through one of the “Jim’s” attractions – a roller. There’s a small foamy/mattressy (sic?) tube, just above another small foamy/mattressy (sic?) tube, the idea being that a small child can run up to it and jump through head-first. Rik attempts this. Two problems – (a) Rik is very drunk; (b) Rik is not a small child. Long story short, Rik emerges through the other side with a rather smashed up nose, bleeding copiously all over his clothes. A broken nose – pretty good start to the session. Anyhoo, he grabs the nearest thing that he can find, namely some kids sock that has been left in the Jungle Jim, cleans himself up as best he can and all head on.

The next stop is a pub on the other side of the island (I live on an island by the way – it’s called Jersey and it’s awesome). Although we had been at a mates leaving do, we joined another mate’s birthday party. This one involved Pub Golf. For the un-initiated, pub golf is lots of fun - bit.ly/9waUGu - there’s a general explanation for you. Due to the aforementioned leaving do, he, and others, were five holes behind. I, sensibly I think, had decided to forego the competition and simply enjoy the evening. Rik being Rik decided that the best way to approach pub golf (as I admit I have done in the past with him) was to “hole-in-one” every drink. Not a good idea. A five drink catch-up (Pint of Guinness, pint of cider, glass of red wine, pint of lager and rum & coke) all holed-in-one added to the general drunkenness & debauchery. We headed of to two other pubs before heading into town – he holed both of those in one as well.

It was at this point that I left the party – I feel it was for the best. He didn’t. He carried on. Fatal mistake. From what I can gather, the pub-golf was finished/abandoned at around 2300 – I don’t think many can remember much. What I have been told was that Rik decided that it was a good idea to climb some scaffolding (not that kind of story by the way – this is just incidental). At this point some clever chap inside the apartment around which said scaffolding is erected tries to tell Rik to come down, cue the ever-apt & eloquent “Fuck off”. Sensibly, chap-in-flat calls Mr. Policeman. Mr. Policeman tries to talk him down, leading to the afore-mentioned response. Mr. Policeman then climbs through total-strangers flat, pulls Rik inside (through said flat), cuffs him and takes him off to the cells.

Rik awakens, along with his memory, early next morning to be let out of the cell (after the obligatory bacon sandwich). Par for the course, the belongings that were taken from him are detailed by the Desk Sergeant & handed over.

“One packet of tobacco”
“One packet of cigarette papers”
“One mobile phone”
(And then, la piece de la resistance,
“One bloodied small child’s pink sock”

Length? Nothing custodial, only a caution and a teensy little fine. Would’ve been more if any kids had been reported missing....
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Thu 24 Mar 2011, 17:15, 6 replies)

hate those fucking rollers
got stuck under one at pleasure island once, had to be helped out by a tiny little japanese lady and her furiously giggling husband.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 17:23, closed)

Hmmm
Landmark?
or possibly Portlet?
Gotta be one of those two.
(Figmaus, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 18:00, closed)

Sounds like the Portelet Inn to Me... Good work mon vie
(Basilbrush, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 18:02, closed)

Could be the OP
But what about L'Auberge du Nord ?
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 24 Mar 2011, 19:53, closed)

La Fontaine
Ahhh, shag.

Other side of the island I'm afraid, not one that I frequent often. The pub-golf catchup was at the Old Court House (which I DO frequent frequently).

Either of you beans, or have you just visited our alcohol infested island?
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:01, closed)

Pâl'-ou l'Jèrriais?
I do have a horror story from the OCH as well mon vie. Will see if I can track it down and repost.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Fri 25 Mar 2011, 19:11, closed)