The Acorn Club
1988. 19th February. 23:45.

I'm in bed. It's the night before my 18th birthday.

Dad rocks up from the club (The Acorn was "his club") and rushes into my room. Thankfully I wasn't enjoying the attentions of Madame Palm and her Five Lovely Daughters at this point.

Dad: "Ed, get up"

Me: "Wtf?"

Dad: "Get up. We're going to the Acorn"

Me: "Oh"

Wander down to the club having gotten into a suit and a shirt and tie. Dads barman and bar staff had organised three x pewter tankards for me and, realising that I'd never been drunk before, proceeded to get me shit-faced to a standard that I'd never thought imaginable.

Got home at around 0400 having vommed three times in the quarter-mile between the club and home.

Up at 0800 because I really wasn't feeling very well. Managed to be very very very very very ... VERY ... quiet all day to avoid any loud noises.

'Twas a good lesson though. Didn't get too pished at all at uni!
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 16:23, 1 reply)

Sounds like
a great Dad!
(Douglost, Sun 8 Feb 2009, 23:36, closed)