The story of Luke.
I have a pretty good story for this, but I'm going to save it for another time.

Picture the scene: It's the long, hot summer of 2004. I've just moved in to a new flat, and I've spluffed my last cash on a weekend ticket to T in the Park. A friend of mine from Manchester comes to stay pre-festival, bringing with him two friends. One, Ian, remains a good friend to this day.

Then there was Luke.

Despite the fact Luke only stayed with us a matter of days, there are dozens of stories I could tell you. Here's my favourite.

Myself, the three Mancs and my friend Morven were sat having dinner in the Junction pub. Luke and Ian start chatting to some strange girls, we leave them to it. They get their numbers.

From here on in, it's a bit hazy. Luke and Ian disappeared to some kind of party held by the two girls: the three of us took mushrooms and spazzed around for eight hours or so.

Around halfway through, we got a phone call from Luke.

"I'm vomiting blood... I've called me mum to let her know..." *click* line is dead.

He showed up the next day wearing a sarong and someone else's t-shirt, wielding the following story:

"I was shagging that blonde lass, but I was really drunk and I threw up on her. But once I was wiped down her mate finished me off!"

Classic.



EDIT: Epilogue. A friend of mine ended up going out with the wipe down/finish off mate. We took great delight in telling him this story.
(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Fri 15 Jun 2007, 12:45, Reply)