Soiling charge £30? No thanks
During my third year of uni, I lived across the road from The Cricketers in Swansea. Without being the best pub in the world it was good enough, and being less than 30 paces away makes most quality considerations moot. And on Fridays, they had a deal on Beck's - £1.25 a bottle and my favourite beer at the time. Easier to drink than Dom Perignon dripping from Monica Bellucci's ladybits.

Two weeks into the term, on a lazy Friday afternoon, I decided that I really fancied an all-day drinking session. So I collared my housemate and got him to the pub. It was 1pm. We drank. He had a lecture at 3, so I collared his girlfriend and we carried on drinking. Various people joined us, drank, and left. I kept drinking my bottles of happymaker.

Now as fun as all-day binges are, they are surprisingly hard to keep up. Have some food and immediately your body wants to shut down, digest and go to sleep. Have no food and you'll probably pass out and/or get alcohol poisoning. My solution? MDMA in convenient pill form. One at 6 o'clock, to perk me up. One at 8 o'clock, to properly start the night.

I cannot remember anything from 8.30 onwards.

Next morning, I wake up in my bed, head pounding, stomach feeling horrible. I look around in confusion and think "wait a minute... I'm sure I was in the pub." After a couple of minutes of racking my brain and feeling my aching body, I stagger out of bed and into the living room, where two of my new housemates are sitting. "Erm... Can anyone tell me what the fuck happened to me last night? I have absolutely no clue - last thing I remember I was in the pub..."

Hannah smiles.

"Beth brought you back here at about midnight. She had to wake me up to get you in the house because you couldn't walk! She said you went to a club and lasted half an hour before passing out in the middle of the dancefloor, so she brought you home. You were sick in the taxi, then you shouted at the driver, Beth got you out and couldn't get you in the house, so she left you on next-door's lawn while she got me. We got you to your bedroom door, you stood up and told us we could both 'fuck off now, I'm fine' and then went to bed."

I took a few seconds to digest this.

"Erm. I'm sorry. Did Beth pay the driver for the cleaning up?"

"Oh no, she said she didn't have to pay the soiling charge as you were only sick on her."
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 1:13, 5 replies)

I hope you married Beth
Or at least had a go on her - she sounds like a legend.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 7:40, closed)

Fuck no
1) Mate's girlfriend
2) Ugly
3) Lying bitch

Nevertheless, good for a few drinks with at the time.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Tue 12 Jan 2010, 15:54, closed)

I seem to remember smoking spliffs in the garden of the Cricketers while visiting a mate who lived in the Uplands
does that sound likely?

I was utterly fucked the whole weekend, so might have the location wrong.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 9:14, closed)

I never really spent much time in the Cricketer's
despite living above Dylan's Bookstore just down the road.

The two or three times I was there though, I remember having a cheeky toke in the beer garden. It actually seemed like a pretty decent place, although it kinda smelled.
(ConanTroutman thought we would free the vulture, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 10:21, closed)

The whole of Swansea kind of smells
I remember the beer and food being cheap though. actually, I don't because I was going through a personal crisis at the time. Had no money, just broke up with a gf, so my mate paid for all the booze, fags and food.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 11 Jan 2010, 10:48, closed)