Pea Pod Wine
This happened when we were in the sixth form at school. The names have been left the same to expose the guilty. Paul (whose house it was) had parents who were in to winemaking. Paul's parents had unwisely gone away for the weekend leaving Paul in charge of a) the house and b) the entire stock of a batch of pea-pod wine they had just made. I mean we are talking like dozens of bottles of this rats-piss, highly potent with alcohol, but with all the finesse of a rough chablis with the tang of peasant's toenail and a bouquet of athletes' foot.

Party round at Paul's then. Four of us convened. Me, Mel, Jeff, and of course Paul. Several bottles of peapod wine were uncorked and sample. Paul and Jeff were both sick into the sink, and then tried to push the big bits down the plughole with their fingers, all the time giggling like girlies and saying to each other over and over "you know we MUST be pissed to be doing this". I snatched a ceremonial sword off the wall and tried to chase Paul's family cat up the stairs. The cat was not only younger and fitter than me, but was also emplying the considerable advantange of not having consumed enough alcohol to stun an ox. It escaped, I tripped on the stairs and nearly kebabbed my own nuts. I lay there, stunned, while the next bits unfolded.

Paul and Jeff grabbed a "post horn" thingum off the wall and went out in to the garden and started blowing it, causing one of the neighbours, a well known local solicitor, to open his window and shout "would you kindly stop that NOISE" in a sort of John Cleese voice. For some reason we all thought this was undescribably funny and they couldn't blow it again for giggle-fits every time they tried.

Jeff decided he must go home. Mel had passed out on the lawn and lay there, groaning. Jeff skipped merrily over him, saying "see you Mel!" For all I know, Mel is still there. Paul passed out back in the house. I was trying to hold on to the stairs which were doing a very passable imitation of the big dipper at Alton Towers.

Jeff's drunken momentum actually got him quite a long way home. But eventually he fell over with his head in the gutter. He swears that, while he was lying there, a hedgehog came up, sniffed him, and asked if he was OK.

Next after the hedgehog came a police car, manned by two of Humberside's finest, who stood him up and got him to turn out his pockets, which contained a duffle coat toggle and a guitar plectrum. They must've felt sorry for him because they offered him a life home, but he slurred that he'd be OK and weaved off into the night.

Do not. ever. have. a peapod wine hangover. It is. the. very. worst. I would rather set my hair on fire and put it out with a spade than ever ever drink that foul piss again. Thank Christ it never made it to maturity, but the yeast played havoc with my arse for days afterwards and if I close my eyes I can still imagine the taste of Chateu Peapod. Bluergh.

Still we all do these things when we're young.

Length? Excessive. Girth - sadly, these days, also excessive.
(Bookman_Oldstyle, Tue 18 Apr 2006, 17:50, Reply)