» Accidental animal cruelty

Lazarus the hamster
Many years ago, when few people had access to the Premiership football on Sky TV, my friend Woody was very generous by allowing his mates to arrive at his house on a Sunday afternoon and watch the footie, as he was the only one of our Mancunian circle rich enough to be able to afford the satellite fees (this was about 1993).

So, one Sunday afternoon a group of us appeared at his house to watch Manchester United take on Manchester City. As the only United fan in a group of twelve, I was a bit apprehensive, but smiled grimly and decided to put up with the abuse that was sure to follow from Woody, a huge City fan and as people from the area will know, somewhat bitter about United's success.

Woody had two hamsters, which he hilariously named 'Laurel' and 'Hardy', but when we arrived for the football he announced that there had been a double tragedy. Hardy had died the weekend before, and had been buried with some ceremony in the back garden in a cigar box with much weeping.

As we stood on the step on a freezing November day, Woody was close to tears as he related that he had woken up that morning to find Laurel dead in his tank, seemingly through heartbreak. We all shook our heads sympathetically and then asked to come in and watch the fucking football as we had only come round for a few drinks and the match, rather than a requiem to mourn the death of a tiny rodent.

The match began and the mood was solemn, until City took the lead, at which point Woody leapt to his feet in joy, despite the fact that the large tank (still containing the very visible body of a slumped hamster named Laurel) was right beside him. The thought of beating the old enemy clearly made Woody forget the death of a second hamster in a week.

Anyway, come the second half I was feling more uneasy as United had equalised and I wasn't the most popular person in the pub in that room as a result. Then the unthinkable happened...

Paul Ince (United midfielder who remains one of the most unpopular men in football) strode forward and hammered a shot right into the corner. 2-1 to United (which is how the match ended).

Three things happened at once. The rest of the room (City fans all) became quire irate). I jumped up with my arms in the air squealing like a mad thing. Then Laurel the hamster leapt into the air with his hamster arms raised squealing like a mad thing, for he was alive! And obviously a big fan of Paul Ince or Manchester United.

There was much talk of 'The Lazarus Hamster' after the end of the match. Then somebody sugested that hamsters might hibernate, or maybe just be generally sluggish in cold temperatures (and Woody had decided to invest in Sky Sports over a central heating system).

Anyway, some beer later a small but solemn exhumation took place. Woody simply had to know whether he had buried his beloved Hardy alive. As three of us went at the icy ground with spades, the cigar box was soon revealed, and gently removed fro the cruel earth, and in the living room, Woody carefully opened the box, like a contestant on a macabre 'Deal Or No Deal.'

It was no deal. The box was empty, with a small hamster-shaped hole chewed into one side, where Hardy had woken up and decided to make his 'Kill Bill 2' escape with his tiny claws.

Who knows if Hardy made it to the surface and a better life? What matters is that Laurel escaped the same fate of being buried alive and that United went on to win the Premiership as usual.

Oh, and Woody the massive Manchester City fan had to live for another couple of years with a hamster who was so obviouy a United/Paul Ince fan.

I simply cannot help the length.
(Tue 11th Dec 2007, 3:16, More)

» My Worst Vomit

Nude vomiting
Christmas Eve is always a good excuse for a drink, with festive cheers and pubs open till twelve. For some reason, I decided that the toilets in the pub weren't good enough, so walked outside and proceeded to piss up the wall. The night air hit me and I managed to collapse straight back, lying in the pub car park and pissing all over my chest. A large piece of wood with a small nail in had luckily cushioned my head, so when I did sit up it was with a swinging wooded ponytail protruding from my head. After removing said wood, the best option was to sit down, which I did on a low wall of a neighbouring house, waking up some time later in the garden with a man shouting at me for lying in his rosebush. What else for a good Catholic lad to do than sway into Midnight Mass? (Luckily, God's bouncers kept me out of the church with a firm push - vomiting at Midnight Mass was a common event). Got back to parent's house and stripped off (they were at Midnight Mass - close escape) then went to the toilet to be sick. Unfortunately, squatting and vomiting led to the other end opening, with the result of a heavily shit-stained lino floor in the bathroom. Waking up ther next morning with no idea of whether I'd cleaned it up was NOT the best way to celebrate ickle Baby Jeebus' birthday, though it was never mentioned, so I assume I mopped my way to redemption.
Apologies for length of poo.
(Sun 22nd Aug 2004, 15:47, More)

» When animals attack...

Star Wars pigeon
Summer of '77, I was young, arrogant and seven years old. Came out of the cinema on Oxford Road, Manchester, having just witnessed 'Star Wars' for the first time. I was completely blown away and my young mind was full of images of far away places and wonderful exotic alien species.

The second I walked out of the cinema a huge pigeon flew straight into my forehead, knocking me out. My friend and his older brother acting as 'parent' for the day were appalled as they comforted my prone body on the pavement. I regained consciousness after a few seconds and remembered to cry like a small child who had just been hit by a two pound feathery weight. As I came to, my misery was compounded by the sight of a dead pigeon by my right cheek and blood flowing into my eyes from a deep V-shaped cut on my forehead caused by a beak, which left a scar for several weeks.

Whenever someone mentions 'Star Wars' (or 'Scar Wars' as some hilarious friends call it) my hand automatically moves to my forehead for a reassuring massage.

I hate pigeons. Apologies for length and forehead rubbing.
(Sat 4th Jun 2005, 18:58, More)

» People with Stupid Names

Colleagues
Until recently I had the pleasure of working with both Dick Cleaver and Willie Payne, which is quite a combination, but my sister wins, as she went to school with Hildegard Schnoutskin. No bullying there then...
(Thu 26th Aug 2004, 17:37, More)