An underaged all day-er (with a nap)
Shimmery fade back 18 years...

It was the day of our GCSE results, and being already well versed in the arts of imbibing, we'd planned a full day pub crawl. I had been blessed with a sparse amount of chin hair and an arrogance bordering on perfection and as such I was rarely troubled at the bar, couple that with my friend who had a voice deep enough to do a passable Right Said Fred cover version we envisaged no problems getting served.

Off we trotted, the first pint coming from the pub closest to the school (remarkable, really), followed by many, many more, the last 2 (before the nap) obviously taken in the style of dwarven warriors.

We were huge fantasy fans, and had often read of dwarves "quaffing jugs of mead". Now, not being entirely sure how to quaff, we decided it was simply a matter of throwing a pint of lager at your face and hoping some went in your mouth, lots of fun, but rather smelly all told.

We decided that we should probably call it a night, and headed back to Right Said Fred's house as planned (very cool parents), on the journey however, he became agitated about us having to go to different 6th form colleges and it became clear that the best way to deal with this agitation was a fight.

Staying on the tube an extra stop and deciding we could probably pick up a scrap on the long walk back, we took to insulting every likely lad with our harshest cuss "You helmet". Thankfully, and understandably, not one of them took the bait, and we arrived home unscathed.

Wobbling upstairs we bedded down for the night, it was 7pm.

But the epic adventure didn't end there...

We woke again at 10, as thirsty as young men should be and headed out for lasties.

This time however our luck was out, so we wander to the local green and were befriended by a couple of young lovers with a 2 litre bottle of party punch and a guitar, a few swigs and a song later, we trundled back to his place and made crank phone calls with his little brother, my most memorable being the father of little brothers ex-girlfriend, whom I asked "Do you like Camembert?" before hanging up.

Length: 13 pints, 12 hours, 6 crank calls, 3 hours nap, a few tears, 1 fine kebab and 0 fights. Epic.
(babydad, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 8:57, 1 reply)

Quaffing
According to Terry Pratchett, it is the art of opeining your mouth, and throwing a jug of ale at your face, whilst trying to avoid getting any in your mouth whatsoever
(Buftoon posted this on, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 15:59, closed)