» Teenage Parties

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.
(Tue 18th Apr 2006, 17:50, More)

» Child Labour

Spanish Practices
I had my first "real" summer job between sixt form and Uni, working in a market garden. Despite being in the deepest darkest yokellish parts of East Yorkshire it was infested by Spaniards. (GYAC, they come over from the Canary Isles, three or four of them club together and buy a cheap caravan, then work the whole season doing 24 hour shifts and make ££££££££ to take back home. Nice work if you can get it)

So, not only did I have to wander through acres of jungle like savage cucumber plants cutting cucumbers, and spray them with industrial Malathion (probably banned now, and I once got drenched in the stuff when a spray gun exploded in my face) and get scratched to buggery and cut my fingers in the process, all in searing tropical humidity, but I had to do it all in Spanish. For six weeks for most of the day I did not hear a word of English spoken... but on the plus side, I DID learn how to say "now we will cut the little cucumbers" in Spanish. A phrase I have never used since in anger.

I don't recall what I got paid, it wasn't much, but I did once start to write a novel about the experience.
(Wed 22nd Feb 2006, 15:33, More)

» Accidentally Erotic

Fanny Batter
I have been watching this subject progress with interest.

On the theme of inappropriatemness. I have taken to calling in at the local chippy on nights when my wife is at work and I have got to sort my own evening meal out. One night last summer I called in there and I was served by a young girl in a white cotton uniform (they all wear them, but she was a) young and b) fit. While I had to wait for the chips to cook I could not help but notice the side on view of her white lacy knickers through the transparent overall.

Needless to say I developed a raging boner and if I could have done so without exciting attention I would have bent her over the counter there and then, hauled her knickers down, and porked her until her teeth rattled.

As it was, I just paid feebly for my fish and chips and left (bent double)

But that night I gave her the benefit of my man fat in a chip-fuelled wank. How said is that, on a scale of 1 to 10. At least an 11.
(Fri 10th Feb 2006, 0:31, More)