Senior Dance, 1991
The dance itself was crap, left just before the end and headed up the road to the local restaurant for the bar. Had a few beers there, then all 10 or so of us headed off to one of our friends house that was just out the back of the bar.

If only it had ended there. Most details are hazy now, but the highlights included

downing the best part of a quarter bottle of gin
struggling with a mate over a bottle of napolean brandy
drinking anything that was left unattended.

Again, if only it had ended there. The combined effect of probably some of everything going led me to realise I was very hungry. Myself and 2 other guys went down to the Chinese at the end of the road. I clearly remember eating said chinese (chicken and pineapple with fried rice - straight Gin tastes better than that) with a teaspoon, although at the time I never questioned it. This was later pointed out to me that I was using a teaspoon as someone had poured bacardi all over the plate of food. Still ate the lot seemingly.

Then there was the 'brace' incident. Even bacardi cannot make chicken and pineapple taste good, so I began to feel sick (obv. not the drink that had made me feel ill), and legged it upstairs to the loo. After an extended session with Ralph, I realised that my removable brace was missing, the only logical explanation being that it was disloged by the force of vomit. The solution to this is to obviously plunge my arm into the toiletful of vomit (and whatever may have been in there previously, I never had time to check before I added my own contribution) and search for it, but to no avail. Gone forever, woe is me. I turned to the sink and washed my hand, when Pepe (who had followed me in to laugh) composed himself enough to point out that I had removed the brace and thrust it into his hand as we entered.

After probably much more drinking and the sideshows of watching two of the guests shagging in the main bedroom (the small bedroom could not fit everyone in to watch) and someone drinking Fahrenheit, it was time to go home. Held the taxi up for ages while we searched for my bowtie, until my cousin pushed me out the door and told me she would find it in time for the return of the hired suit. As the taxi pulled away, I dived out and ran home, through the restaurant grounds and down the 8 foot drop to the main road in and out of Stirling, pavement width 2 feet.

The bowtie was retrived from the jacket pocket of the suit, the shirt unfortunately never survived.

I may tell you about the 1992 dance as well sometime.
( LuftWaffle, Sat 15 Apr 2006, 21:47, Reply)