Paris.
School trip to Paris, 1987ish.

History trip (doing French Revolution for A level history). We get over channel OK, my mate Justin stopping to buy a bottle of Bacardi duty free on the ferry over. On train to Paris, he proceeds to drink pretty much the entire bottle to himself (there were 5 of us plus teacher and his wife) and by the time we got to our hotel he was completely out of it. We unpack and go out to eat. Our first meal there, we decide to go for a Pizza at a pavement café. All’s going well, Justin is managing to keep a lid on his pissedness, our teacher is pretty cool about it and the food etc is good. Then Justin decides to start talking to the French chap (and his family) sat next to us.

Conversation goes as follows:

Justin “Exscuse moi, tu habite en Paris ?”
French Chap “Oui”
J (stage whisper to us lot) “Aaah the cunt lives here ! in Paris !”
J (to French chap) “Et ton Famile ?”
FC “Oui”
J (stage whisper to us lot) “Aaaah the cunt’s family lives in Paris too !”

He then proceeded to leap out of his chair and dart down an alleyway. Lord knows where (or why) and none of us knew Paris at all. Twunt.

We went back to our Hotel and eventually he turned up, covered in mud and passed out.

All’s well ‘til early hours when he proceeded to go to the loo (a tiny room with a loo and small sink) and throw up all over the red flock wall (think Indian restaurant) paper a mix of Bacardi and cheese and tomato Pizza, and stomach acid. Yum ! We and Teacher turn up, not impressed but he is too far gone to do much so we clean up his mess which goes OK other than the smell. We finally sprayed a whole bottle of Lynx Oriental over the walls which sort of masked the smell. But still, to this day I can recall the smell of Bacardi vomit and Lynx.

More to follow ?
(kitescreech still here, Sat 9 Dec 2006, 10:36, Reply)