Moley McMole and his 21st birthday...
I have a great friend who I've known since way way back. Best man for my wedding, mates for 20 years, etc etc. I've always called him Fish, however his mates at uni all called him Moley due to his skinhead hair and massive fists. 6'3" in old money and 220lbs meant that not much stood in his pursuit of debauchery and coming from a navy family meant that even at the tender age of bugger all he was trained up to master the art of beery goodness.


wavey lines and it's 2003 and Moley is out and about for his 21st celebration in Bath...

I joined him as they were heading out to start a hopefully epic pub crawl. "They" were the uni rugby team and will doubtless feature in other QOTW. First pub and Moley breaks the seal with a dirty pint. Basically, a pint mixed from all the shots behind the bar and whatever else the barman could fit in the glass. Already the colour of vomit and smelling dubious as well, Mole necks it in one and runs outside to get some air. With cheeks filling he swallows and shudders and heads back in for more...

... an few hours later...

Fourth pub is now full of people egging Moley on as he tries to chug a schooner of stella. This descends into a back and forth duel as the stella goes down his throat, and up again, and down again until, weeping gently, Moley finally gets it all down and collapses on the pub sofa.

Time to go up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, I think at this point and, ably assisted by another mate, Jimmy the Screw, we get him reasonably upright and head off to find our car to drive back to Moley's house. FWIW, I'm teetotal so am always designated driver.

Staggering through town like a group of zombies we finally fetch up against my 4x4. Parked in one of the nice areas, we are right in front of an up market restaurent with many couples sitting in windows seats to observe the cold paupers outside. A grinning Mole is propped up against the window as I try to unlock the car and turn to find Moley unleashing a sordid river of horror into the window, mere inches away from the faces of the on-looking diners.

Jimmy grabs him and we man handle him into the front of the car. Once we had him strapped him he turns and announces he feels rather ill and may puke. A little late to be telling us but hey, as long as he is empty now. Sadly, it was not to be. With a gurgly cry he turns and like a scrofulous Linda Blair proceedes to bring up yet more foamy badness. Not a drop hit the pavement, not a drop went into my car. No, the whole fucking lot went down the doorgap and into the winder mech where it sloshed about and clogged the drain holes up.

Amazingly, despite his near terminal alchohol levels he gave us perfect directions home. Jimmy and I got him into the house where upon he lay down in the hall and passed out in an expanding pool of yet more beery chunks. Jimmy looked at me and in silence we hauled him out of the house and back into my car where we strapped him to the roll cage with his head out the back and hauled ass over to Jimmy's house where at least we could keep an eye on him.

Morning broke and with it the hangover from hell for poor Moley McMole. His face when he came down as we were having brekkie is forever etched in my mind. Bless his cotton socks but the first thing he did was apologise for all the best and crack open another stella as he sat down.

Moley, we salute you!
(71 hour Ahmed wasn't working at, Sat 9 Jan 2010, 21:15, Reply)