I swear it wasn't me..
I can't really add too much to what's already been said without saying the same old stuff.

There was one party that has gone down in history amongst the annals of drunken teenaged debauchery...and like the best of them, it all started so innocent. Scott's mother was going away and he wanted "a couple of lads" round for the usual cider-swigging shenanigans that every 15 year old is guilty of. Plans are laid, beverages and herbaceous materials are acquired and adequate munch was purloined and stashed. A huge lie was concocted in order to appease the parental units (something along the lines of "its Scott's birthday and we're all staying over" type thing) and the aforementioned "couple of lads" got excited and ready for a night of getting ripped to the tits. Oh how life was simple back then.

Anyway, friday rolls round, his mother rolls out and we all get phonecalls telling us we can come over. I got delayed but seeing as I was the "herbacous supplier" I was told things would wait until I arrived. After I got my stuff together and found the right bus, I walked up the path to his house and was instantly greeted by one of the most incredible smells ever - stale cider, cheap beer, vomit, kebabs and smoke. Shit, methinks, what happened to taking it easy? Turns out word had got around and the entire year (give or take a couple of the more studious types) had gotten hold of as much alcohol as their underaged arms could hold and shown up to Scotts place. The place was a wreck, Scott was weeping under the stairs and I struggled to take in the carnage as I walked from room-to-room. Some highlights were:

- A chair actually embedded in the patio door so that the legs had gotten stuck in the glass without it shattering
- A kitchen that was more-or-less on fire after a pizza had been put in the oven, box and cellophane wrapping and all
- Someone had fallen down the stairs and left 3 teeth and a rather large and extravagent stain on the carpet
- and the piece de resistance was the copious amount of puke in the grand piano.

Not wanting to be associated with any of this, I carefully picked my way through the beer tins, discarded takeaway wrappers and dubious carpet stains and told Scott that I'd see him on Monday.

For whatever reason, his mum stopped going on business trips after that...and while I'm glad that I had nothing to do with it, I have been reliably informed that it was "one fuck of a party." Ahh, the days before GCSE's were magical, were they not?

While I apologise about the length, you should really be more concerned with the wart at the base...
(shady_dave, Thu 20 Apr 2006, 2:02, Reply)