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This is a question Nights Out Gone Wrong

In celebration of the woman who went out for a quiet drink with friends after work, and ended up half naked, kicking a copper in the nads and threatening to smear her own shit over hospital staff, how have your best-laid plans ended in woe?

(, Thu 24 Mar 2011, 16:02)
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*warning: contains Honda Accord*
A couple of years ago my then girlfriend and I drove over to Belgium to catch up with a friend who lived in Brussels.

Now, you know that moment in the night when something goes *click* and you think 'well bugger me, we're all thinking the same thing here'? Well, there we all were, sipping our drinks happily, wondering (I'm sure) the same thing, basically 'how the hell do we go about this'?

Well, in a flash of genius, Melanie, our host, suggests we take a dawn drive to her family home for a spot of swimming. Awesome. You can practically hear the wah wah pedal in the soundtrack to my life...
So, ever the architect of my own destruction, I grab hold of another bottle of Vodka from the freezer, just to make sure we didn't lose the 'mood'... (we weren't *that* pissed, and I had only had a couple of beers) and we pile out into the deserted streets, leap into my car and away we go, picking our way through the pre-dawn woods and parks of Brussels (beautiful, I should add).

Anyway, sure enough, sunrise sees the three of us lying naked on the grass after a wholesome and refreshing dip in the pool. The girls have started to become acquainted (that one will be in the wank-bank until I'm ninety) when suddenly my girlfriend... well, not so much passes out as seems very much to have died. 2 minutes of faffing, rising panic and a sudden dawning of the urgency that we get her to the hospital. I attempt to dress her (ever tried putting clothes on a motionless wet person? No, don't answer that) and Melanie gets rid of the now empty vodka bottle. And of course it starts to rain.

So, we pile into my car which, unfortunately, has only two seats and no roof and, after heaving my unconscious girlfriend around it's cockpit now has no indicator stalk either (I hardly need add that I have no indicator stalk to speak of either by this point). Melanie assures me that the hospital is only 10 minutes drive away; she used to work there, so we eschew putting the roof up and just go for it.

Brussels was a far less enchanting place in rushhour, with no indicators, in a painfully obvious scarlet 1960s 2 seat convertible with 2 wildly pissed/near dead half naked girls in the passenger seat in the pissing down rain. You know that bit in Pulp Fiction, when John Travolta is driving Uma Thurman across town? Well it was a bit like that, except we were surrounded by angry milkmen and commuters and very much need a good towelling off.

So, we get to the hospital. Everyone recognises Melanie, so she bravely legs it, I end up being accused very strongly of feeding my girlfriend drugs and spend the next 6 hours sitting on the floor next to her bed shivering my arse off as she variously voms and moans and soils herself in a giant man-nappy. Turns out a mixture of being quite pissed, having very nearly no body fat and spending half an hour in an unheated outdoor pool isn't good for you; who could have guessed?

So yes... didn't *quite* go according to plan, that one...
(, Sat 26 Mar 2011, 16:32, 2 replies)
I think you're meant
to wait half an hour after drugs before swimming.
(, Sun 27 Mar 2011, 6:47, closed)
So near, and yet...
... a great story.

(, Tue 29 Mar 2011, 14:18, closed)

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