In loving memory of Shackleton Hall, the Birmingham University hall in which many of the drunken antics below took place. R.I.P. Shackleton Hall.

February 15th 2004 - Why must my sleeping patterns suffer at the hands of the inhospitable?

After getting through several gallons of Nottingham's finest brew in a handful of Nottingham's finest pubs, the fine bunch of people that are the Nottingham internet meet bunch decided to try their hand at a spot of clubbing. Not wishing to settle for anything less than the best, we headed for the nightclub of our choice, this being 'The Works', which can also be found 50 miles away in Brum, not to mention 150 miles away in Surrey. Like me, it gets around. Tipsy and eager to truly kiss my sobriety goodbye for the night, I marched in at the head of the pack (consisting of, perhaps, ten of us), intimidated not by the bulldogs on the doors. Always the adventurous soul, I happily parted with eight pounds of my hard earned, errr, loan, in return for a ticket to a prosperous land: the inside of the club. It was then that I noticed that I seemed to have lost the rest of the group, and that they hadn't followed behind with a similar level of enthusiasm. Not fancying a night of lone clubbing, I decided to double back and to give the rest of the group the encouragement they were so obviously lacking.

Upon once again walking past the bouncers and stepping outside, it was then that I was informed that the reason for the rest of the group's seeming desire to stand outside in the rain, was that one of the group had been turned away, on account of his footwear being too casual. So, there I was: in possession of an £8 ticket that I now had no use for. Grumbling and self-pitying as a result of what had now turned out to be a particularly unwise financial transaction, I found myself being given advice by one highly enterprising soul as to how I might go some way to recovering my loss: by selling my ticket on the black market to a willing buyer. Fancying myself as quite the potential auctioneer, I clapped my hands and accosted random people, asking if I heard £7.99 for "this 'ere lovely, 100% genuine, club ticket". Unsurprisingly, I had about as much luck in this as Rosemary West would get trying for a job at a nursery, leaving another member of the group to take over as drunken Delboy. Despite expectations being far from high, she worked her magic, getting me a price of £4 for my ticket from a dodgy looking local. With 50% of my loss now cut, I was satisfied enough to drag myself up from the land of the self-pitying, sulking imbeciles, and to regain my zest for drinking myself to oblivion. Incidentally, the guy who got sold my second hand, half price ticket promptly got turned away for not being dressed smartly enough. Far from saving £4, the hapless bastard had wasted £4. I could very well have felt guilty and offered the unfortunate guy a shoulder to cry on, a face to hit or at the very least a few heartfelt words of condolence. However, there's a time and a place for compassion, guilt and consolation, and when feeling the need to turn one's sobriety into little more than a distant memory, on the streets of Nottingham, is not it. Fazed not by the episode, and fearless as ever, the group went on in search of a more accommodating club.

But, I must digress. Two hours, and several beers later, and we were all gradually losing our co-ordination, ability to walk unaided and to talk sense. Except for me, who never had these in the first place, of course. As a triumph for shy men everywhere, while dancing with all the grace of an inebriated gorilla on roller skates, I somehow got talking to a woman, as well as accepting an invitation to go back to her place (is there such thing as Vodka Reef goggles?). In addition to not having anywhere lined up to stay that night (I was initially going to kip on the floor of the hotel room of one of the group, but saw this as a better offer, I suppose), the prospect was attractive for other, fairly obvious, reasons, not least of all for the red blood running through my veins. With no strings attached, or anything else for that matter, I enjoyed a free taxi ride back to a house somewhere just outside of Nottingham. The exact address escapes me, alas. Once in the house, I had an enjoyable spell on the sofa, spoiled only by the ringing of a phone. I don't know if the woman in question receives phonecalls off her boyfriend at 3 am every morning, but she did this time. It seemed as though my better offer had had a better offer. It was then that I found myself being evicted, and left to battle the cold wind and rain. With time, my knowledge of the area in which I was and the ability to walk in a straight line not on my side, my options were limited. Attempts to awaken hoteliers by the ringing of bells, the hammering of doors and the throwing of stones at windows proving fruitless, it was then that I faced up to the fact that beggars couldn't be choosers, and decided that a two-foot-wide hotel porch would be comfortable enough in which to sleep. However, the hotelier and proud, defensive owner of the porch had other ideas, not even deeming the renting of which for a fiver to be plausible.

Hope was all but dead. My chances of having a roof over my head were becoming fainter and fainter. As a last resort, I took to standing in the middle of the road, inviting drivers to try their hand at taxi driving. Sadly, at 3 am, the number of potential taxi drivers was not at its highest, the only two cars being driven by miserable bastards and police officers. The latter were greatly interested by my drunken choice of places to stand, expressing great concern for my wellbeing. I shall never refer to such caring people as 'the pigs' ever again. After being given the Spanish inquisition, which saw me mention the internet on at least one occasion and just about managing to convince them that I wasn't a retard, I was driven to the (train, not police) station, this being my first ever ride in a panda. May there be many more. Young and intimidating looking I may be, but my nice, law abiding nature was obviously apparent to them. Porch kipping or no porch kipping. I remember making a joke about subjecting them to a breathalyser test, which didn't go down as well as I'd hoped. After a tearful farewell, and a promise to keep in touch, I made for the station. With hours till the next train, there was little I could do but wait. And wait. And try a different tact: this being one of hitch hiking. If millions of asylum seekers can get here from halfway across the world, I was prepared to try my hand at getting to Birmingham. Dawn may well have been breaking by the time I found an Eddie Stobbart driver kind enough to stop. One hour, and much in the way of drunken convo later, I found myself back in the much more familiar streets of Brum, a mere train ride from home. By 9.30, I was home. In one piece. Against all the odds, I had come off smiling. It was a victory like none other.

Nottingham is the city in which miracles happen. I was preaching about the high female:male ratio only the other day. I thank the lord for internet meets and beer. There's hope for us all. May this serve as an inspiration to us all.

November 7th 2002 - Why must my sleeping patterns suffer at the hands of the absent-minded?

Being a popular guy *ahem*, I was this night invited out for a 'quiet drink'. Given the choice between this and revising for a forthcoming exam, it was an invitation I readily accepted, not knowing that this 'quiet drink' would keep me for many hours past last orders.

We (Wendy and I) initially went to a pub located quite some way out of the 1/8 mile radius of Plymouth that I seem to be living entirely in (a good....half mile, in fact). I had two pints and two Vodka Reefs, here. Anyway, Wendy hadn't eaten, and proved to be a real lightweight, and seemed almost pissed on about 6 units. She then decided that she wanted to go clubbing, and for some reason decided that we should go to Electric Circus, an Indie club infamously located along Plymouth's Union Street. All prepared for a good night's clubbing, we made our way there, only to find what we initially assumed must be a massive queue. On closer inspection, however, it was noted that the men with hoses and black suits were most definitely not well-endowed bouncers, however hard Wendy fantasised. Nor were the men in 'blue'. And the commotion wasn't over the length of the queue, for once. After watching in disbelief for several minutes, we decided that the club was a bit too 'on fire' for our liking, and perhaps a bit hot to enter in our coats. As we left, still pinching ourselves, amid cheering and what I guess was probably vain hope that the blaze might possibly spread and eradicate the entirity of Union Street, I wondered just how many pounds' worth of improvement the fire was doing to the club, and who had had the splendid idea of renovating the club in such a way (in case you're wondering, the club has since been demolished. The fire wasn't the only barrier to us getting in, though - the club wasn't open, Wednesdays, anyway, and hence I don't believe anyone got killed). I suppose that many a night's clubbing has been ruined by the club in question having to be put out by the Fire Brigade. Puts a certain dampener on things. The news of the fire spread around campus, and accordingly, celebrations were under way. Even the tramps were seen smiling....

Anyway, we decided that things might be somewhat more 'cool' in Zanzibar, and so went there, still reeling in sheer elation.

Once in Zanzibar, having left our coats in the cloakroom, we both had a race in terms of drinking, without having even organised to do so. I briefly spoke to some guy from the uni who was very keen for me to get pissed (despite me already being so), and who bought me a shot of some lethally strong drink, that I'm amazed didn't take the remainder of my liver away with it. At one point, Wendy insisted she must leave, while I urged her to wait for me to finish my drinks. I can't remember fully what happened, but I looked round, and she'd vanished. I searched the club, before leaving the club, giving little thought to my coat that was last seen in the cloakroom.

I made the unwise choice of getting a taxi back for four pounds (despite it being a mere half mile or so), and went and gave Wendy a knock. She wasn't in, which worried me a little, and left me thinking I might have left her behind in the club. I looked out my window, waiting for her to come, and saw someone I thought could be her, loitering near the entrance. I went down to let her in, thinking perhaps she'd forgotten how to use a key. I was met by someone else, who had gone down in the other lift, to do the exact same thing, having apparently been rung by Wendy, who had lost her purse and hence couldn't get in. When we got back up to our floor, Wendy went to get our tutor, while I went and ate a can of tuna (?!) in my room.

However, my midnight feast of sorts was promptly interrupted by Wendy coming in and crashing on my floor, and ushering me into the corridor to keep her company. The tutor turned up with the key, which wouldn't unlock the door. She gave it to me to try, but to no avail. The tutor went to get security to come and unlock it, while Wendy took to lying down in the corridor with her eyes closed in front of what had become quite a crowd. I tried to tell her to get up and go to bed - despite her bed being in her (locked) room - but this proved a harder task than trying to raise the Titanic. I admitted defeat, and saw what looked to be an opportunity to get to bed, having been up since 8.30 and having a 10.00 start the...same day. Perhaps, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, I thought. I went to my room and locked the door, only to have Wendy hammer on my door within minutes, having miraculously risen from the dead (the floor). However, the night was not yet over, as Wendy then declared she'd lost her BAG, which contained her mobile. Half of the corridor (who were probably stoned) sympathised with this, and puzzled over just where it might be.

I saw yet again an opportunity to go to bed. It was 3.15, and I relished the thought of six hours' sleep. Lying down, I felt myself nodding off. Until, that is, I was given a rude awakening by the sound of a mobile going off. I was about to answer it, before I realised that I didn't in fact own a mobile. After pinching myself several times, I got up and followed my ears, which lead me to a bag. I picked the bag up, went out into the corridor, and saw Wendy on someone's mobile. "Your bag's ringing", I told Wendy. After asking why Wendy was ringing me from such a short distance, and giving a whole new meaning to the idea of short-distance calls, I was accused of being a bag thief (tongue in cheek) by the (by now somewhat amused) spectators, who I'm convinced were that far from cheering for more. How her bag got in my room, I don't know. Someone led the crowds away to his room, where I assume a smoking weedathon then took place. Wendy and I, meanwhile, went back to my room, where she collapsed on my floor. After being filmed and interviewed for a few minutes, she got up, and started shouting at me, insisting she be allowed to go to bed (!?).

So, 3.30, and I got back into bed....until I heard a knocking at my door (not wishing to ruin the story's ending, but I do actually get to bed eventually...back to the story). It was (unsurprisingly) Wendy, who was urging me to go to Zanzibar. Thinking that perhaps she was taking the social life thing a bit too seriously, I pointed out that it had been shut almost two hours. Apparently, she had phoned Zanzibar, and had been informed that they had her purse. Being what must be the nicest guy on the planet, I agreed to accompany her. Once outside, I complained about the cold, and was given Wendy's coat (well, once less thing for her to lose, anyhow), which was a rather, shall we say, 'feminine' coat for such...masculine a man as myself to be seen out in. Not that this mattered, given the time. So, wearing a woman's coat, I continued. Halfway there, Wendy insisted I run on and get it for her, which would've been fine, had I known the way. After much arguing, we arrived. After being reunited with her purse, complete with key, Wendy asked me to wait while she went to get some chips. After much waiting in the cold, I could stand the lack of heat no more, and went into the chip shop/restaurant, getting some rather curious looks from other customers/staff, perhaps not so used to seeing skinheads wearing pink coats several sizes too large for them. After five odd minutes and no chips, we left, with Wendy revealing that she'd only gone in because she'd heard they were giving away chips. So, finally, we were on our way back. But did things go smoothly...oh, no. We ended up getting into an argument, as Wendy kept stopping and just sitting down. I was literally saying (in a non-angry, but sarcastic, way) "It may have escaped your notice, but doing a grand tour of deepest, darkest Plymouth at 4 am doesn't rank among some of my greatest pastimes..least of all after an 8.30 am start". When we finally got close to halls, Wendy took to befriending a cat. She refused to come back to halls, and walked off, following a cat. I'd reached the end of my tether, and chose to leave Wendy and feline companion to their own devices, quite fed up to the brim of missing keys, missing bags and careless, drunk East Anglians. I went to bed, leaving the hideous pink coat on my chair, where it remained until morning.

Drunken quote of the night: "It may have escaped your notice, but wandering around deepest, darkest Plymouth at 4am doesn't rank among some of my greatest pastimes...least of all after an 8.30 am start"

June 19th 2002 - The piss-up to end all piss-ups (all piss-ups in Hall, that is)

Financial constraints resulting from excessive alcohol purchase and X-Box madness, mixed with accommodation contracts coming to an end, meant that this was to be my last piss-up in a while (at least two weeks, say), and my last ever in my current hall. This said, it was always certain that I'd ensure that it was one which wouldn't be forgotten in a hurry. And believe me you, I sure as hell did that. Given the said financial constraints, me and my partner in crime, Michael, didn't go out on the town, remaining in hall (mostly) instead. Looking back, it made for a more interesting night. As is typical for us, we started drinking at around 8 pm, starting off in my room, playing X-Box, which proved most enjoyable, when merry. However, the more lager I drank, the less and less satisfied I was with staying in my room. I had ambitions. I wanted to go places. The hall was my oyster. Armed with a box full of cans of lager, we set off on a quest for excitement, mayhem and whatever was to come in between. We were men on a mission, and nothing was going to stop us. The corridors were devoid of the usual signs of life, being as a lot of people had already vacated their rooms and gone back home. However, completely unperturbed by the near eerie atmosphere, we continued.

Our first glimmer of success came in the form of a room gathering held in a part of hall that had never been graced with my presence, before, about five miles (seemingly) from my room, and comprising of people who had not until then had the pleasure of meeting us. Never ones to miss any good opportunities, and always the forthrighteous beings, we marched into the said room through the ajar door, with me introducing myself to, and shaking hands with, everyone there, in quite the amiable manner you'd expect of a merry moron. Helping ourselves to the floor, we started picking up random objects scattered about, and commenting on them. I described one teddybear as "particularly handsome", and asked if I could have the pleasure of keeping him. On having my heart broken, and being told that I couldn't, Michael and I left in a sulk, the promise of more vibrance being the only thing keeping us going.

We soon after happened across a kitchen gathering, consisting of about fifteen people, most of which were drunk themselves, and some with guitars. True to form, I kept people amused/entertained by downing cans of lager, before a member of the gathering decided that it just wasn't enough for me to down lager, and challenged me to find a bottle of sauce, and down it. Never the yellow chicken, I found the nearest bottle of sauce - belonging to God knows who - , a 3/4 full bottle of Ketchup. I took the lid off it, throwing it across the room after doing so, before downing the sauce in one, somewhat enthusiastically, in fact, saying "mmmm" in a somewhat exaggerated manner, every few seconds, to leave no question as to my appreciation for the taste of it. Upon completing my challenge, amidst the relentless clapping and cheering, I tossed the by then empty (plastic) bottle across the room in full flight - a flight ruined only by some poor sod's head getting in its way. It was then that someone produced some ordinary household eggs. While others would perhaps consider having one or two of them on toast, I proved myself to be a resourceful soul, suggesting a game of 'kitchen cricket', using the empty sauce bottle as bat, and the said eggs as 'disposable' balls. Nothing could be found to act as wickets, sadly. Never ones to let small things get in the way, there was great support for the game, and play was soon under way. Perhaps unsurprisingly, me being....me, I was the one to get lumbered with being batsman. First throw, and I hit the 'ball' nicely, sending yolk splattering in various directions for miles, not all over myself, either. The bowler, suffering from what one might describe as 'yolk-induced lost enthusiasm for his position', retired, handing his bowling duties over to someone else, who suffered a similar fate. Ten minutes, much escaped yolk and almost two boxes of eggs later, and I was still in bat, rather yellowed by the whole experience - mainly through eggs missed and those thrown at me by over-excited critics. As what turned out to be the final egg came flying towards me, I gathered all my strength, and hit out as hard as I could, veering the egg to the left, somewhat. What I guess I hadn't banked on was the Hall's Security Guard (see last post) choosing that particular, somewhat unwise, moment to stroll through the door, taking an escaped, flying egg slapbang in the face. The last time he'd seen me, I'd been making prank calls in someone's room, and had then taken him to task regarding his possible drinking on duty. Having had many other run-ins with me, also, he was far from impressed to see the offending batsman to be none other than my good self. With hindsight, had I deigned to stick around for long enough, I could quite forseeably have had a fight on my hands, but, along with a few others, I made for the relatively un-egg-splattered door. However, with the time being 1.00, the night was but young, much like ourselves, and we were far from ready to turn in, and so returned to the kitchen after ten minutes or so, which those who had stayed to tackle the Security Guard had left. I was then dared to open all the freezer doors - a dare I rose to immediately. I then gathered cutlery belonging to random - somewhat unlucky, you might say - people, before putting it in the microwave, and turning it on. The resulting bang was amazing, and so far unrivalled by any resulting through too many curries the previous night. At this point, someone exclaimed that the Security Guard was about, so the kitchen light was turned off in the vain hope of him not realising that the place was still inhabited by drunken fools. As a precaution - unbeknown to the others -, I locked the door, while the others ducked down behind the tables. A moment passed, and we heard him trying to get in, knocking at the door. At this point, I lead the other three out onto the kitchen's balcony, and across a ledge (don't try this at home without life insurance, I warn you), and back to the door at the bottom of the staircase outside the kitchen door. We then strolled along near the said Security Guard, him still knocking on the door and not realising that the gulity culprits were right behind him - one of them (me) brandishing a fire extinguisher.

Upon wandering around hall, we stopped off at a toilet for one of us to answer a call of nature, while two people insisted upon observing him doing just that, from the cubicles either side. It was at this point that I was told to set off the fire extinguisher, and two of us pulled the pin out, while I moved about, spraying mirrors and walls with foam. I then dropped the offending weapon, and we all ran off.

However, this wasn't to be the worst thing I'd do. On roaming around some more, I was told that there was a fire, and to set off the alarm. Not understanding properly, but being quite drunk enough to fall for such shit, I was dragged to the fire alarm and told to set it off. Still not properly understanding, but barely caring, with someone's 'assistance', I set off the fire alarm. Gusts of laughter prevailed as we all 'ran' off out the hall and onto the grassland beyond, while the remaining members of hall, perhaps fearing for their young lives, evacuated the building. We ended up jumping into the nearby lake, hiding until it had all died down. I left Hall myself, the next day, and have thankfully not heard anything more regarding fire alarms going off or eggs being splattered in Security Guards' faces.

Drunken quote of the night: "I'm going to butter you - you're going to wake up covered in butter".

June 8th 2002 - The end of term hall party (and arguments with Security Guards)

The end of term Hall party, like the last one (see two entries below), was free and held in the hall itself, but had more attractions. There was a fairground, complete with dodgems, waltzers etc. Michael Jackson would've been in his element. However, me, being me, was only interested in those activities that got you drunk (you know, drinking).

After drinking a glass of punch and three pints of the cheapest lager that student loan can buy, I went for the buffet meal. I sat with my mate and his gf - my mate not even being in my hall, and who hence was not even supposed to be there. He only got in, because I nicked him a ticket. I accomplished this very brave act by getting a flyer and poking it through the door of the room of some kid a few doors from me along the corridor (who never socialises, and who I figured wouldn't be too bothered about going to the party) and knocking his ticket out from under his door, with the said flyer. Incidentally, it so transpired that he had come to the conclusion that he ought to socialise more, and had decided to go after all, seeing it as a great opportunity for him to meet friends. He'd actually being in his room, about to pick up his ticket at the time, when all of a sudden, a flyer mysteriously appeared from under his door, knocking his ticket out back under his door, before disappearing, just before he could stop it. He went out onto the corridor, but saw no-one, and so was resigned to staying in with his porn. But all this is neither here nor there, so stop feeling sorry for him and concentrate, Goddamn you. At the meal, I had three helpings, as opposed to the meagre one permitted, simply by going back up twice and asking the dopey fucks serving, for food. After this, we went to the fairground. However, as I said, I wasn't interested in any activities that didn't involve drinking, and besides, three meal servings, alcohol consumption and waltzers don't go together too well (I speak from painful experience). So, after doing the usual and inhaling vast quantities of helium from balloons, I left my mate and his gf to it (no, not to 'it', you dirty gits), and returned to the bar.

There then followed some serious drinking. I remember having the following to drink: Glass of punch; three pints of lager, two pints of Strongbow; four bottles of Vodka Reef; a pint of Vodka Reef; a bottle of Smirnoff Ice and various leftover drinks (I took to sniffing leftover drinks, to deduce whether or not they were of the alcoholic variety). I had a very amusing convo with a couple of girls, where I tried to convince them that I was studying English as a foreign language. I asked if they wanted to find a party in some room, being as the whole thing was soon to finish, and was asked if I had a double room. "Yes" I replied. We headed for my room, the three of us, me obviously not perturbed by the fact that as soon as we got to my room, it would become apparent that it was anything but a double room, being as it is one of the smallest singles. Maybe this was because I was so drunk that I felt fairly certain that I would be able to convince them otherwise. When we got to my room, the more observant of the two girls questioned its size. "No, it's a double room, honest" I insisted. "The single rooms end here" I argued, holding my arm up in the middle of the room, suggesting that Shackleton Hall single rooms had only enough room for a bed and wardrobe. My bid to convince them that it was a double room proved fruitless, and we soon left, stopping by a real double room along my corridor, belonging to a rather sensible, boring person. I decided to relive the events of the previous week, and took to using his phones to do pranks on. Or at least trying to. He seemed determined that his phone was not to be a part of any pranks, and kept snatching the phone from me, before ordering me to leave. I ignored his pleas, and the bland git called Security to come and remove me from his room. But I didn't make it easy for him to do so, oh no. He took no fewer than five attempts to get through, as I kept cutting him off, each time cunningly, just before he could give his name and room number (for maximum annoyance?). When I finally let him tell him his room number and name, I said that I didn't care about Security coming, as the Security Guard looked as though he had escaped from a nursing home (the Hall's Security Guard is at least 60, I reckon). I later asked if I should go and help him up the stairs. When he eventually did arrive, probably with the aid of a stairlift, I immediately left the room when asked to, but followed the Guard down the stairs, taking him to task on why he'd been drinking on duty, which I believe/d was forbidden. He got very angry, and threatened to get me thrown out of halls, being as I'd already been in trouble, and said that it would all be written down. We had a small argument, before he stormed off in a rage. I'm proud I stood up to him. Even if he is about 200 years past his physical peak.

Shortly after this, desperate to get even more drunk, I went downstairs, and found people still in the TV room. I sat down, initially, before getting very tired and lying down between the rows of chairs. Soon after, everyone else left. But not me, for I was sleeping like a baby. I still was long after the TV room was locked for the night. I woke up at 6.30, and realised that I was locked in. I lay back down on some chairs, and waited for the room to be opened up. Luckily, it was opened up at 8.00, and I ducked down behind some chairs as it was being, and managed to escape without being noticed. Sweet end to a sweet night.

Drunken quote of the night: "You're a muffet. A muffet is an edible muppet".

May 31st 2002 - Never take windows for granted (and I don't mean those of the "Microsoft" variety)

Having 31 cans of lager at my disposal, I decided not to bother going out on the town, but to stay in, instead, seeing just how far through the said lager I could get. I didn't let myself down, that's for sure. At 8 pm, I started drinking with my mate and his gf. By midnight, I was fairly wasted, having got through 11 cans. At this point, I decided to use my mate's gf's room phone in order to do prank phonecalls on. The phones we have in our rooms can be used to make calls to other people's rooms in the hall. I took to ringing numbers at random. Many people across hall - male and female - were informed by me that I was passionate about them. I then took to telling someone that Domestos was, in fact, a Greek island, before ringing up one person, pretending to be a double glazing salesman. After helping myself to some of my mate's gf's vodka, swigging a lot from the bottle, me and my mate went back to my room, with me stumbling about. When we got there, my mate started filming me. I started dialling random numbers, only managing to get through to two people, this time. The first turned out to be a Malaysian girl, who was informed by me that she was really nice. I kept saying "This is actually meant to be a prank phonecall, but you're actually really nice, so I'm sorry, I think I'll just chat to you normally, if that's alright with you". I welcomed her to England, and asked how she was finding it. After reassuring her that relationships between our countries were good, she said that she had to go because her parents had rung her, I complained bitterly, and asked for her number. She gave it me and said to call back in half an hour. I hung up, before ringing her up, and saying "Just testing". My final phonecall was to a somewhat less amiable person, who claimed to be a Hall Official of some sort. He told me to grow up and get a life, at which point I accused him of being insociable, turning down a 1 am chat and all. After taking to informing him that the hall was full of people - perhaps believing him to be under the impression that the hall had particularly low occupancy rates this year -, I hung up on the miserable sod.
"We're both too sober for his own good", I informed Michael.
"Whose?!" said a puzzled Michael.
"Ours" I said.
I was then asked random questions by my mate. I argued that it was January 10th, 1992, that I was nine and a half years old, and that I was going on holiday to Asbestos. I then did one last phonecall, pretending offering someone replacement windows. However, it was I who was to be the one most interested in replacement windows. We heard voices outside my window, so opened it up. It was two girls, very drunk, running around outside. I shouted out to them, whilst my mate filmed them. One yelled up about not knowing me, to which I said "No, but I know you, now". They asked if we wanted a toilet roll, to which I enquired as to whether or not we looked like we wanted one, and if our asses really looked that dirty. They then threw a toilet roll up to me, before running off, leaving me shouting after them. I then suggested waiting to look for people coming back "alcoholic", perhaps under the impression that people might leave teetotal, but come back alcoholic. When I finally gave up hope of them returning, I hovered about, and mentioned the fact that I was constantly being filmed. My mate said "Like the Osbournes", at which point I begun yelling out the names of the Osbourne family, out my window at the top of my voice, seemingly thinking that perhaps they had come over from LA for a 1.30 am picnic on the grassland. Soon after, the girls returned, and hung around below my window for ages. I got bored, and decided to shut my window. After three attempts and still no shut window, I decided that brute force wouldn't go amiss, and slammed it, smashing it. I then said "Oh dear", and took to picking up the....window, and throwing it out of...the hole where the window had been until the fateful slam, forgetting about the highly amused girls below, who weren't pleased about nearly being showered by glass, and ran off. I then realised that I'd been filmed breaking the window, and urged my mate to turn off my camcorder. I guess I underestimated the unshatterproofness of the glass in question. I am now paranoid about it. I really would feel dumb if I broke my window, twice. Mind you, I'm amazed it lasted as long as it did. Eight months is quite a long time for a window to remain mine. Good job fire alarms aren't slammable, that's all I can say. I was thinking of getting a brick, and claiming some drunken dope walking past did it, but I was stupid, and owned up properly. Now, I will have to pay for my own alcohol-induced stupidity. Pane in the ass, though. Wokka, wokka, fucking wokka.

Drunken quotes of the night: "The hall is full of people", "Domestos is a Greek island", "I'm going on holiday to Asbestos".

March 15th 2002 - The End of term Hall party

The end of term party was free and held in Hall, with the bar being open till 12 as opposed to 11, and music in the common room and old dining hall. This took place on the day after I made my return from staying at Liverpool Uni, for 5 weeks, and was the first time that many people had seen me in all that time. Anyway, while still sober and drinking in the Hall Bar, I found myself talking to an Oxford University student who was staying with someone in the Hall. We got into what started off as an almost intellectual conversation regarding over political correctness and our hatred of it, but what degenerated into a half-hearted convo on 80s kids' programmes, the more we drank. At regular intervals, I took to shaking his hand and informing him that he was cool. He informed me that I would be right at home in the Oxford University Conservative Association. At the time, I took this as a great compliment, and later took to showing off to various unimpressed people that I was Oxford University Conservative Association material. All this was only interrupted by an attractive, though rather drunk, Asian girl starting a convo with me. Me, being the fool that I am, was more interested in trying to sound intelligent to an intellectual brain, and so she turned her attentions to Michael, who ended up being in her arms for most of the night. Being the nice guy that I also am, I did all I could to encourage her to show him a good time, before going back to my room to fetch some lager, with an Oxford Uni student in tow. I took all 6 cans of lager that were in my fridge, gave one to the aforementioned Oxford Uni student, and went back to the party. Once there, I became worryingly generous, and started handing out free cans of lager, refusing to accept any money for them, and ending up with only about 2. By this time, I was quite drunk, and was trying to get random people to pull. I went up to this one guy, and kept pointing at girls for him to go over to, before he admitted to being gay. I then showed my non-homophobic, open-minded side, and began telling him how OK it was with me that he was gay, and asked if his parents knew, and other such questions. I gave him the e-mail address of the third-year Biology student who had tried to anally fuck me, or something along those lines, in November (see November 17th's post, a few below), but my matchmaking ideas did not come across too well. I then left him to it, and took to introducing myself to random students (some of which probably knew me already), and enquiring as to how their courses were going. I think I managed to meet more people that night than in the rest of my time at uni, albeit drunkenly. After the number of people I'd shook hands with reached triple figures, I found Michael (who, not wishing to take advantage of the Asian girl, had graciously allowed her friend to take her to bed - missing out greatly, perhaps), and started "dancing", inverted commas being particularly appropriate in this case, on the dance floor. I was grinning inanely, and at one point fell over, spilling my can of lager all over the floor, and just letting it all ooze out as I lay there still grinning. The quantity of alcohol of mine that I ended up missing out on drinking through generousity/clumsiness is tragic, on reflection. I took about five minutes to get up, I hear. At about 2.00, when the party finished, I went back upstairs, and ended up stopping off at the kitchen where the guy opposite me, George, happened to be. For some reason, I took it upon myself to open a freezer, get someone's large stick of bread from within, rip some off it, and shove it in the microwave. When I got it out, I decided it was not hot enough, and, instead of doing the logical thing and putting it back in again, threw it off the balcony. However, I then realised I was still hungry, and got the rest of the bread, broke a bit off, put that in the microwave, and took to ripping the remainder into shreds and scattering them about the kitchen floor (not fair on the cleaners, but I was drunk, right?). When I got the bread out of the microwave, I complained about how hot it was. When we went upstairs to our rooms, I got my camcorder and started filming a sober George, from the room opposite me, who wasn't, however, that optimistic about his potential to be a good home-movie star, and who told me to go to bed. I then went back to my room, and initiated some sort of sumo wrestle with Michael, without thinking to put my camcorder down. Luckily, it only got kicked and trodden on a little bit. We soon after went to sleep. At 5.40 am, for some reason, I woke up to find what I thought was the Asian girl who Michael got off with, sitting on my chair at the end of my bed, snogging some guy who was on the chair next to that. I woke Michael up and asked what they were doing. He seemed confused by what I was saying, so I got up and addressed the two of them, asking what they were doing (not in an angry way), before realising that I was in fact addressing none other than my shirt and trousers. Quite how I managed to mistake them for humans, I don't know. It's as if I was awake but still dreaming. Perhaps I'd been having a jealous dream about Michael and her getting off in my room. Who knows? So, all in hall (sorry, bad joke), quite an enjoyable night, and for free, you've gotta be happy.

March 9th 2002 - Why must I persist to attract people's fists? (that rhymes)

Yet another very hectic night. Went to RSVP, Liverpool, and, as per usual, got very drunk. Strongbow was my chosen drink. I spoke to various people, including two girls from the locality. However, despite my sociableness, I wasn't to be the one to benefit. Michael, the jammy git, ended up pulling one of them. I ended up walking to the dance floor on my own (a jealous huff?), and doing...whatever, before leaving the club alone, possibly in pursuit of a taxi. I have vague memories of going into McDonalds and having two much-needed burgers, before wandering around looking for a taxi, with limited success. I don't know why, but I got into an argument with some little bloke who I'm sure hit me in both eyes. I remember, also, trying to make peace, but he wouldn't have it. In the end, some people concerned for my well-being got me into a taxi. Meanwhile, Michael and his new acquaintance were roaming the streets looking for me, with even less success than I had had looking for a taxi. I hear that they were holding hands, but I'll spare you all the details. When I finally got back to halls, after sharing a taxi with two Hindus who invited me to their wedding on May 6th 2006 (?!) - an invitation which I accepted, vowing to be there -, I couldn't get in, being as they were Michael's halls, and I didn't have a key to get into his block. However, "luckily", there was an open toilet window. A 7-foot high, very small, open toilet window, but an open toilet window nonetheless. After a good few attempts, not to mention a good few chuckles from a passer-by come spectator, I managed to slide myself through it, legs first, by holding onto the wall and the window's handle. All would have been rosy, but, unfortunately, I was too drunk to read anything into the fact that the toilet light was on, and no sooner was I sliding myself through, then someone was complaining about being kicked in the head. Just then, Michael, somewhat bemused at me being halfway in the toilet window and arguing with someone inside of it, arrived, and asked what I was doing. I took the opportunity to assure him that I hadn't actually taken up climbing in through 7-foot high, very small toilet windows as a pastime just yet. It was good to know that I hadn't wasted any time in climbing in, and that I'd have had to have waited a whole... five minutes - doing nothing constructive - for Michael to come with the key to the more conventional, traditional entrance, anyway. Next morning, I noticed small cuts on my head, two black eyes and a cut eyelid, to go with my already grazed cheek. I also had bad pains in my head, which later went numb. Perhaps I took to headbutting a wall, when drunk. I've done stupider things. Or, perhaps someone kicked me in the head. I'll never know. So, there you have it. Once again, I'm lucky even to have made it back home. Once again, I'm considering going teetotal. Once again, I probably won't manage it. Michael's acquaintance wrote her number on his chest in eyeliner. The contrast between the quality of our nights is enough to make one weep. There's simply no justice in this world...Apparently, and I stress apparently, Michael's acquaintance's mate would have "gone for me", had I been less pissed. On reflection, I've never regretted drinking so much in my life. When I next go out, I'm considering only taking enough money for about 6 pints, so as to get me merry, but not drunk. For once, I'm actually thinking that it doesn't pay to get too drunk. Having said that, this page's content relies on me getting too drunk, pretty much.

February 9th 2002 - A welcome change of scenery

I'm currently in Liverpool, staying with a mate in his university halls. The area is typical of urban Liverpool. Muggings and rape are common. Makes me feel glad I'm neither rich or sexy. I've been going a bit over the top, lately, spending money on anything that is bad for me. The people here are a right laugh, spend hours in room gatherings smoking weed, eating pizza and playing playstation 2, while having mad discussions. People back at my halls seem to favour card games and scrabble, the boring bastards. On Monday night, we went out to Vodbull, the cheap Vodka and Red Bull drinks student night. This night proved fairly eventful. I ended up talking to 2 girls, and the bloke they were with apparently looked as though he was going to kill me. They said he was paranoid and protective. I was oblivious to the fact that someone wanted my blood. I don't even remember all this, I'm relying, as always, on those that do. When we left the club, we were all pretty pissed, and as we went past a pub, someone suggested stealing the pub sign. I got lifted up on someone's shoulders, and started trying to yank it down. At this point, some bloke appeared, and yelled "Oi, that's my local!" (said, of course, in a cool, comical Scouse accent), and hit my mate (who, ironically enough, was not doing a thing) on the cheek, and then on the nose, causing him to fall to the ground, bleeding. Apparently, he hit me, too, but I don't remember this, and don't have a mark on me. As such, I'm morally obligated to feel guilty. When we got back, after getting a pizza - a daily thing for me - there had been a big fight outside halls. It was the aftermath, and about 50 ppl were around. One person with us was trying to get involved, and had to be calmed down. People had been in the pond and someone had chucked a bin in it. It really is pretty mad round here. We got back and went to someone's room, there then followed a heavy smoking session. This was at about 3, and we sat on the bed smoking for hours and watching films. We were still there at 7.50, watching Jaws. I was the only one awake, so woke my mate up and suggested going to bed. I purchased an inflatable bed and pump, in Liverpool, as on the first night I slept on the floor, which was a nightmare. Last night, we just went in someone's room smoking and going on his playstation 2. We later went to the bar and my mate was paranoid about people knowing he'd been smoking. I almost asked for a pint of cannabis, instead of a pint of Carling. The train journey here was annoying, I had to get off before Liverpool Lime Street, because someone jumped off a bridge and so trains had to be stopped for the body to be removed. Fine time to commit suicide, some people simply have no consideration.

Drunken quote of the night: "You Brad Pitt lookalike, you".

February 3rd 2002 - Thrown out of a club for spending too much?!

With a mate in Birmingham, we went to a club Fri and Sat. On Sat, at The Works, Broad Street, I went to the toilet and wouldn't come out. I was sick down myself, and had my head in my lap, was almost in an unconscious state. My mate kept trying to get me to come out by shouting over from the other cubicle to me, and ended up filling a bottle up with water, and chucking it over me to try and stir me, but to no avail. He ended up kicking the door down. In the end, security yelled at me to get up, giving me 30 seconds, before finally getting me up and dragging me out the club, pushing me out the door. First time I've ever been thrown out a club. I spent ?0 that night. It seems ironic, in some ways, to be removed from a club for being too pissed, as that's the point of going, kind of. They should have been grateful that I'd spent so much money. After leaving the club, we tried to get into McDonalds, but I wasn't allowed in, because I'd been sick down myself. We had difficulties finding a taxi, and so started to walk "back". We walked for ages, before turning around and getting back to outside The Works about half an hour after leaving it. We walked around for ages, deciding to try to find our way home. We walked for ages before admitting we were lost, and so hailed a taxi. What we didn't realise was that we had in fact been eventually walking the right way back to my Halls, and were only a few minutes from it. The taxi journey lasted about one minute, yet cost us 3 pounds. To think we walked so far, and then wasted 3 pounds on a distance we could have walked in 10 minutes.

January 10th 2002 - Record memory loss

Last night, I went to a club with some mates from my floor. I made the mistake of eating too much pizza (which I'd had for three days in a row) before going, and then drinking Foster's. I like having pizzas delivered, because the empty boxes make a good stand for my T.V. aerial, dubbed " The leaning tower of pizza boxes". Anyway, that night I'd had quite a few pints, had just downed a couple, and then got a couple more. By this time, my mates were going to the dance floor, while I stayed to finish my drinks. After this, the memories are not clear, but I ended up going to another room, and spotted someone I recognised from my old school and college. It transpired that he was with one of my old mates from back home, and he lead me to him. However, I don't think that I was capable of intelligent conversation (assuming I ever am....) by this time, and so didn't get to find out anything more about what he'd been doing since I last saw him. I woke up the next morning with absolutely no idea how I'd got home, my last memory was being in the club with the people from back home. It's pretty freaky when you can't remember how you got home. Anyway, soon after I woke up, I realised that I had sick down my pillowcase, bedspread, trousers and shoes. I dread to think who I was sick in front of. I called upon witnesses who could account for my whereabouts that night, but no-one could help. Still, it's hardly the first time I've had substantial memory loss. Unlike many times after going out drinking, I actually had more than a few pence left in my wallet, but still seemed to have spent a worrying amount. The problem with going home drunk is that taxi drivers sometimes take advantage of the state you're in by charging you too much. It kind of seems like a miracle to me that I got home at all, actually. So, that's the latest on my drunken antics. Not as interesting to read about as most of the other ones, but I'm sure there'll be others, especially seeing as I've still got 16 cans of lager in my fridge that won't drink themselves.

December 9th 2001 - Drinking contest: Pub Golf

Not a highly interesting tale. Last night, I went on a pub golf course. As most of you will know, this is basically where you have a number of drinks to drink, and have to drink them all in the least number of sips. Your score is arrived at by totalling the number of sips for each drink. Therefore, the aim is to get the lowest possible score. We went to 8 pubs, and had 9 drinks in total. We had a Guinness pint, three pints of lagers, a smirnoff ice, a reef, a pint of cider, a tequila snapper and something else which I have forgotten. There were two side rules. At certain pubs, you weren't permitted to go to the toilet, and at some you had to drink left-handed. You were given penalty points if you broke these rules, and also two penalty points for being sick. There were 13 of us. Three of us, including me, downed each one in one. However, I, very stupidly, drank one in right hand when it was a left-handed pub, thus gaining myself two penalty points and a total score of 11, meaning I came 4th, when I would have come joint first. I actually was told by someone that I downed my lager quicker than he'd ever seen anyone. I also started my smirnoff at the same time as 3 others, and finished about 3 seconds later, when they had barely started. I did snoring impressions at them to encourage them along. This all said, it is ironic and annoying that I didn't win. Life's a bitch. I certainly argued my case to a poor, sober, perhaps long-suffering (i.e. living opposite me) George (from the room opposite me)when I returned. I got out my camcorder, as is always an interesting idea when pissed, and got George to film me - which turned out to make hilarious footage. He started to ask me various general knowledge questions, including "What was the most profitable bread company in 1996?", to which I replied "Worthington's". Upon George informing me that that was beer, and that I perhaps meant Warburton's, I insisted that the true answer was Worthington's, and kept saying that Worthington's made the best bread. The next question was "What was the name of the wizard in The Lord of the Rings?".
"Tolkien" I said.
"No, I think that's the author" George replied.
"Merlin....? Poofter......? Drunken sod.....? Wanker...? Shitface....? Idiot....? Tosser...?" I said, seemingly spouting out all offensive words in my vocabulary in the vain hope of one of them being the name of the said wizard. I finally admitted defeat.
"I'm a bit, errr, in the fucking bollocks with this one" I said. I was then interviewed regarding my loss in the pub crawl, which saw me speaking for five full minutes about how I should've won.
"Hello, that points competition, yeah. I did not technically win, I admit, I downed all my pints, but came behind them. It's the 'pussy' situation that Kevin invented, which means you lose points for drinking with your left hand. However, the fact is, I drunk FASTER than everyone else, and people acknowledged this, so I AM the best drinker. Everyone else can just kiss my, you know" I said, slapping my arse to illustrate what I meant. All this was being said as George did a sarcastic commentary, including yawns and saying how I'd already been through this five times. I continued....
"They are wankers, and they can't take the fact that they are worse than me at drinking. I'll always be the best, and I don't care what anyone says".
I then urged him to stop filming me, and to instead film some drunken people down the corridor - despite there not actually being any drunken people down the corridor.
"You are so bloody drunk" George informed me.
"I am NOT drunk, I'm less drunk than you, you are SO fucking drunk" I informed a stonecold sober George.
George then pointed out that, when I saw the footage the next day, I'd realise how drunk I really was.
"They may be drunk, but I am not, because they are PUSSIES" I said, clearly showing no signs of giving up.
"They have low tolerances, but I don't. I'm just not drunk. Am I going to knock on your door and wake you up....? NO. Am I going to wake anyone up....? NO. Am I causing any trouble.....? NO. But do I when I'm drunk.....?YES.", I said, leaning against the wall in a very drunken manner.
I continued to moan:
"A proper pub crawl involves at least twelve pubs, so that only the strongest - like me, for example - survive. That's what happens in a PROPER pub crawl. Not that anyone round here would know the first things about those. Down my way, we don't care what fucking hand you drink with, like the pussies do here. We don't get three hands deduced from drinking one one, like the pussies do here. We care only about how MUCH you drink and how FAST, and hence I ALWAYS win" I said, not making entire sense towards the end, and perhaps meaning "Three points deducted from drinking with right hands".
I then complained about George wasting film on me, saying he should film the people down the corridor who were drunk, at which point he pointed the camera at the wall, and started filming it, sarcastically commenting on how interesting it was and how he wasn't going to waste my film - Sarcasm I picked up on.
"No! Of course not! Interesting, EXTREMELY interesting. I'm fucking fascinated by that. I can't just can't get over how fucking fascinating that Goddamned magnificent wall is" I said, actually throwing myself at the wall and embracing it, to emphasise my point.
"You know, you've just gotta fucking film it, so we don't miss anything funny that it might do. It's so much more fucking interesting than filming people down the corridor who are drunk", I shouted, almost having a fit by this point.
I then had a final whinge about my loss on the pub crawl:
"I don't care if I didn't win, it is a PUSSY system, a PUSSY system, I tell you, what is it? Go on, say it. A PUSSY system"
"But does it really matter?" George pointed out.
"Well, it's the principle of the matter" I argued.
I was then challenged to do an impression of the Welsh (George is Welsh), and after attempting one, I asked if I could go on a Welsh pub crawl, and that if I won it, I'd admit that Wales was better than England. I was told that I could, but had to do chicken impressions for a minute, down the corridor, in order to get in. I did so, happily, not too bothered about the people who were listening with great interest. So, I acted like a complete and utter fool, as usual, but the footage was funnier than it sounds like it would be. You've gotta laugh.

Drunken quote of the night: "Worthington's are a great bread company."

December 8th 2001 - End of term hall party

Not much exciting happened last night. We played on someone's playstation 2 in a mate, Craig's, room, with me providing the T.V. - which happens to still be there, and Craig may even have gone home for a couple of days. I got 6 cans of Carling before the party started, and, stupidly, said yes to going out to get food with Craig and his mate, despite having already eaten. Craig drove us into Birmingham, and we got kebab meat and chips from some place. This was a mistake, it conspired. I had 3 cans, then, at 9.30, went to the party with the others. I had many pints, but couldn't seem to get drunk, though it was quite funny, as numerous others were getting drunk, obviously forgetting their identities as true Birmingham University students (who apparently don't drink anything like as much as your average students). The bar closed at 12, at which point I went to my room, got two more cans, and smuggled them in past security. I later did the same thing with another. Also, owing to the large amount of food I'd had, I felt sick. At perhaps 12.30, I, luckily, realised I was going to hurl, and made for the toilet, only just reaching it in time. Unlike the last time I emptied the contents of my stomach (through an upper area, I'm pleased to report), I managed to get it in an appropriate place, namely the toilet, albeit for the odd splash on the toilet wall/floor. My kebab had made me too full, and made the alcohol taste shit. I was having to force myself to drink what tasted disgusting, and was barely even getting merry for my efforts. The party had a bungee run, and this surfboard thing that you stand on, and is rocked harder and harder till you fall off. I was too self-conscious to go on either, despite being tempted. George, from opposite me, was very drunk, and said that if I didn't go on them, I was a poof, and he'd remember it forever. He also was kind enough to inform the girl in the room above me, that I'd told him that I'd heard her fucking her b.f. I managed, luckily, to pass it off as bullshit from the mouth of a drunk. I was talking to her and her friend until they went to bed at 1.30, showing I must have been a bit merry. I then went around and managed to get many free leftover drinks, in a desperate attempt to change the fact that I wasn't actually pissed. I didn't end up drinking it all, as it simply tasted too awful. I was longing for the nicer stuff, i.e. Vodka Reefs, Smirnoffs etc. I did little else, except take it upon myself to introduce myself to various people. I got back at about 2.20, and was not even drunk. I woke up today at 7.30, and soon after went to uni. I must be the only person who can get up so early after such a night.

November 26th 2001 - A sickening tale

I had Michael to stay Friday-Monday, Nov 23rd-26th. I also decided to invite another mate (yes, I have that many) to stay Friday night, with the intention of having a mass piss-up, the sort I've become accustomed to at uni. Two others were there, but at the bar only, in the evening/night. OK, so, Michael arrived on time by train (pretty amazing, British Rail being in the state it is), and then at 4.00, Simon came. We went to the University Guild's bar, where I had a couple of pints. When we got back to halls, Simon and Michael ordered pizza. When they came, we took them to a neighbouring hall, where I get my tea (with vouchers I bought - ones for lazy students who are in self-catering accommodation, but who can't actually be bothered to cook/shop for themselves). For the record, this hall is the largest student accommodation place in Europe. Well, this part is only worth mentioning, as I managed to get two teas, as the people forgot to take my meal voucher off me first time, so I took my coat off (to come across differently), and went back in to get another - something I've done a good few times. The kitchen staff, being the unobservant beings they are, didn't notice I'd already been in, and didn't ask for my meal voucher that time around, either, meaning I could have gotten another meal. Anyway, moving forward a couple of hours, at 8.00, we went to the Hall's bar. By 10.00, I'd had about 7 more pints, a vodka and coke and a smirnoff ice, and was pretty drunk. I kept kicking the table, at one point spilling some of all of our drinks. I resisted the urge to lick up the spillage. I kept amusing people by insisting that I wasn't drunk, and by thanking people for coming, repeatedly. After then insisting that I could drink anything, Simon, very kindly, forced a Scotch down me. This inspired others, and I ended up being bought about 2 others - with my own money. These sorts of generous acts never cease to touch my heart. Shortly after, I was still amusing the other four at the table, saying I was never sick through alcohol, and wasn't drunk. They challenged me to walk in a straight line, a challenge I rose to, and failed. Everyone was having a laugh, me, Simon and Michael were all pissed to an extent, me maybe the most. Simon had adopted a Scottish accent (he's half-Scottish). After an enjoyable convo on 1980s kids' programmes (a topic so close to my heart), at about 10.30, I stumbled to the toilet, in a manner that'd make a spastic seem athletic. After half an hour, Michael came to look for me (was it through concern for my well-being, or the bar closing?). He found me curled up in a ball on the toilet cubicle floor, having been sick all down myself. He got the others in, as well as, luckily, a Medical student. Him and Michael got me up, and helped me out. Meanwhile, Simon walked into the women's toilets by mistake, before coming out, slumping against a wall, and collapsing, being sick, and passing out on the corridor floor. Me and Michael, shortly after this, went looking for my room. He was helping me along, I was being ungrateful, un-co-operative and mumbling incoherently. I was looking in the wrong block for my room, I was so pissed. Michael came across someone we know, and asked him to show us back to my room. He did, but by this time, Michael was fed up of me, and I was left to walk alone, behind them, walking into walls/ppl's doors, constantly, but luckily missing all fire alarms. Meanwhile again, Simon had the same medical student putting his hand down his throat, to remove sick. His dad was called to halls, who then called an ambulance. Simon, unable to move, was strapped to a wheelchair, and put in the ambulance. As the ambulance was leaving my halls, a student in a Jaguar crashed, gently, into it, delaying its departure. Me and Michael knew nothing about Simon being taken to hospital. I was put on my bed, on my side (by the medic who had somehow managed to find my room, after tending to Simon), to avoid me choking on my own sick. I was then told to drink water. The Medic then left, at which point I sprung into life, got off my bed, locked the door, and told Michael to ignore the medical student's advice (hey, he's only a trained first-aider, what does he know? Lol). Michael went to see how Simon was, and told a couple of girls who were outside my room to keep a watch on me. It wasn't a pleasant sight for them, I was being sick on my floor. When Michael got back - I think he had discharged responsibility for Simon, as he was my responsibility, being as he was staying with me, but I was in no state to be responsible for myself, let alone anyone else - Kevin, a 32-year-old from three doors along the corridor, was with me. He ended up putting me in the shower. Yes, he stripped me and maybe even helped me wash - how embarrassing. will I ever be able to look him in the eye again? He left my clothes in a sink to soak, and I went to bed. Michael, meanwhile, cleaned up my sick off the floor, which, being as he had to sleep in it, was perhaps somewhat necessary. Someone knocked on the door after, and told Michael about Simon going to hospital. I woke up at 7 a.m. the next morning, feeling fine, and innocently asked Michael where Simon was. Yes, I couldn't (and still can't) remember anything about sick, Scotch or Simon being paralytic. I had memory blank from 10.00 pm onwards. Michael filled me in, as I stared in disbelief. I then realised my bed sheets had sick on them. I did the mature, adult thing, and rang my dad up to come and collect my dirty washing. I also had a thorough shower. I found the night before's clothes, and thanked Kevin for....washing me. I still have the sick stains on my floor, and was put off drinking for a bit. However, last night, I went out drinking with a few others from the floor above, as it was someone's birthday. I got merry, as did we all, but nothing much funny happened until we were almost home. We got out the taxi, and were walking back to hall down the road running through the site with all the halls on, when we came across a stray shopping trolley. Someone offered me a ride in it, and I gladly accepted. I got in, expecting a gentle ride, but was then given a mere great push, before the guy pushing let go. It was downhill, and all was fun, till I noticed a car heading my way. Not wanting to become a crash dummy, I jumped out, amazingly not losing my balance as I hit the ground, merely feeling rather giddy. I then, having gone past my halls in the runaway trolley, ran back in the opposite direction to halls. As I looked round, I noticed that the car had stopped, and the unfortunate driver had leaped out his car, and was restraining the trolley, probably not wishing to have a head on collision with it (the road is narrow). It certainly did amuse the others. Boy, did I have words to say to the fool who let the trolley go!

November 21st 2001 - Overly aggressive hall visitors

OK, well, Monday night, I went to a club with 7 others. Anyway, while queuing outside, I saw two people from my old school walking past. I went in, and over to the people I knew at school. Spoke to them for a few minutes, I was holding two pints, I'm sure that in itself surprised them. I got drunk, lost my mates, and ended up going home in a taxi with two people from another hall nearby. I walked back home, got in, and saw Dave, a long-haired, slightly eccentric Law student, who happened, unfortunately, to have a big mate, who I was lead to believe was a boxer, staying with him. All 3 of us are drunk, Dave told me to go to bed, I called him a certain word, in a non-offensive way, at which point his bodyguard, sorry, mate, hit me in the jaw, before going back to the room. I was outraged, and started shouting. Other ppl, having woken up, came out and restrained me from going to his room to get revenge. However, they didn't restrain the Mike Tyson impersonator from hitting me (don't worry, not too hard) another two times at least. Some girls then came out, and one took me back to her room to calm me down etc. Shortly after, I went back to my room, much to people's relief, only to come out again when the Security Guard came, and complain to him about it. I was demanding he throw him out etc. I was merely told to go to bed, which, by that time, had become something of an echo. I go, only to be woken up a bit later, to be asked what happened. Anyway, next morning, it conspires that Ned, nextdoor to me, cracked his head open and had to have 5 stitches. This happened after the one-sided boxing match, so I didn't know about it till morning. Ned claims that he did it himself, on Dave's bed. Others say that Dave's overly aggressive mate did it. I know what version I believe. All this happening when Dave's mate comes is a bit too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. Anyway, the next day, I go to my lectures, wait for my 3-hour gap, only to find that lecture cancelled, go home, and find a letter under my door telling me to go to the President's office at 7. Meanwhile, Dave comes down the corridor, I try to talk to him, and get abuse. "Don't you even talk to me, you wanker". Later, he was saying "If you ever touch my door again, you're dead.... if you even look at my door again, you're dead". He then told me to get off the corridor, before I reminded him that he didn't own the corridor. I then, however, noticed that the "boxer" was there, in his room, so suddenly had the urge to oblige. Anyway, it conspired that Ned had to see the President at 7.30, and Dave, the President at 8. Ready for a lifetime of hating Dave, I ended up in the kitchen (Dave wasn't there) sharing insults against Dave. "Anorexic gorilla", "proof we descended from apes", "a firm case in favour of abortion", and "pinocchio", to name but a few. Shortly after, I went down to see the President. I was asked what happened, and had to explain what the word I called Dave ("pussy") meant. It's nothing too offensive, basically slang for wimp. I stressed that Dave was drunk, as I didn't want any lies he had to give to be taken too seriously. I was labelled a victim, and was told that the case was serious, and would go to the uni. Actually, it's probably more because of what happened to Ned. Anyway, I am officially an assault victim, even though I wasn't bleeding. Later on, while watching a video, I got a knock on my door. I opened it to find an anorexic gorilla standing there. He'd come to apologise and said he didn't want there to be any hard feelings, and that I was a decent bloke. We shook hands. He seemed to be saying that the case wasn't that serious, and that it'd be OK if we went down to the President to explain. So, I suppose I'll be doing that later. I also found out that his mate isn't a boxer. Since then, I have had to resist the urge to punch him and say "Sorry mate, I had to show you how it was done, because you hit me three times yesterday and didn't even bruise me, so I think you need all the help you can get. You could learn a lot from me, good day to you." Actually, he's gone now, so hopefully I won't see him again. Damnit, all I attract is bi-sexual perverts and overly aggressive people's fists.

Drunken quote of the night: "We haven't pulled anyone this taxi"(did I mean "Tuesday"?).

November 16th 2001 - I'm not gay, but...

I unintentionally, unwillingfully "pulled" a third-year male Biology student. That is if him coming on to you out of the blue counts as pulling. You see, I was talking to him in a club, having lost my mates, and was very pissed. So pissed they were refusing to serve me, and I kept trying to pull my own pint. Not knowing his sexual-orientation, I ended up allowing him to stay the night, as he claimed he had no money, and wasn't in a fit state to get back. He, however, ended up wanting a lot more than just somewhere to sleep. More like someone to sleep with. After he kissed me, I pushed him away, but, being pissed, I wasn't as bothered as I would have been, and didn't throw him out. During the night, he kept getting onto my bed and trying to kiss me and God knows what else. In the morning, he said he wouldn't have come on to a straight guy had he been sober, but would fuck me even if sober, were I to be gay. Apparently, I have good muscles as well, and am a good kisser?! All in all, a confidence booster as well as a stomach churner. He was/is one pervert. He had the cheek to leave his number and e-mail address for me, in my wallet. So, the moral of the story is, if you're straight, be careful about having guys you don't know back to your room.

November 9th 2001 - How did I get home last night?

Day before yesterday, the TV detector people paid a somewhat unwelcome visit to Halls. After me hearing someone knock on the door opposite mine, and ask if he had a T.V., I waited, then got my aerial and ran to the kitchen, and hid it in my box there. I found someone else there, who had been alerted to the presence of the T.V. detector ppl early, ringing his dad, asking if you needed a licence if you were only using the T.V. for a playstation. It was established that you didn't. I guess this is obvious, seeing as the licence fees go partly to the BBC, and why would they profit from playstation usgae? I think hiding the aerial was good, though. I don't know why they didn't knock on my door, actually. I'm not complaining, though. Anyway, night before last, I stayed in. Me and the person opposite discovered a new game. My phone can be used to ring other rooms in my Hall, so we dialled numbers at random. Most people were out. One person picked it up, I asked who they were and said "Nice to meet you", before hanging up. That game would be more fun when drunk, I hope I don't wake ppl up doing it. Actually, speaking of being woken up, I was woken up at 1.30 that night, and couldn't sleep for a good 2 hours, as ppl were making noise. On my floor, some ppl were talking loudly, outside they were as well. I also heard noises resembling gun shots. Very strange. I always get to sleep early and wake up early. Contrast to what I used to be. Oh, also, I found a pound in the kitchen. 11 pounds I've found these last few days. I've also been informed that I ripped the cleaner's notes off the toilet door/wall, and challenged a guy near me to a fight, who slammed the door in my face. Last night was Vodbull. I had planned to get pissed, but my strange and somewhat premature departure ensured I didn't. I remember drinking four Heinekens before going, playing the matchbox game and was wearing white shirt, black trousers and tie, basically to look like a school uniform (this was what ppl were wearing ). I then remember catching the taxi there, going in with a few others, and drinking a mere four doubles. The next thing I remember I was back at Halls, alone, waiting for ppl to get back. Yes, I somehow found my way home, possibly alone, very early. I have periods (i.e. getting back home) I can't remember, yet wasn't pissed. When ppl got back, I was talking to them, some said they couldn't remember seeing me, only one I've spoken to so far remembers seeing me there. No-one can shed any light on to the situation of how I got home, or why I left so early. Worryingly, I had no money left when I got back. I can't account for ten poundsish. I would obviously have had to pay for the taxi to go back, assuming I didn't get a lift. This really is strange.

November 6th - Five nights in a row with Michael (non-sexually)

Well, I have been drinking like George Best's fish, you'll all be highly surprised to hear. Friday night, Michael was the one who got the most drunk. He was annoyingly happy, kept falling over. I got back from the toilet one time to find him on the floor, with the security guard standing over him, laughing. To think he gets paid to watch us drunk. Hardly seems fair. Anyway, I reassured him he'd be ok. We later went into the T.V. room, he kept kicking the chairs of the ppl in front of us. When we got up to leave, he aroused the attention of all ( about 25) ppl in the TV room. He was singing a bit, and making strange noises. He fell over and wouldn't get back up. I found him highly un-cooperative and disobedient. He later fell asleep near the main entrance, using the bottom stair as a pillow. He has/had red hair spray in his hair, which was unfortunate for me, seeing as he kept putting his head on my shoulder. I, being the hospitable guy that I am, gave him my pillow to go with his floor, which was red in the morning. I know I used to like Man Utd, but that annoyed me. Sunday night, I was short of money, but found a ten pound note outside the main door. Thinking that maybe there was a God after all, I headed for heaven (the bar). I could've handed it in, but there's no room for morality where alcohol consumption is involved. Got pi...sorry, drunk, in the bar, and went to the common room afterwards, shouting to two lovebirds to not get their tongues stuck along the way. I really amused ppl, ended up lying on the football table and stuff. Nicked some guy's seat while he was gone, but he got back as I was taking it, and we had a tug of war over it, which I won! I was reeling in the glory of that victory for some time. I asked an alcoholic if he wanted a drinking contest some time. He said yes, hope he doesn't hold me to it. On the way back to my room, I wrestled Michael to the ground, not sure why, was only messing about, though. When we got back to my room, I did the usual thing and woke up George opposite me, by knocking on his door, just like the great neighbour that I really am. He wouldn't let me in his room, at which point I called him unsociable. I then tried to have a go on my playstation, it has to be set to channel 9, the TV, but I kept pressing channel up (on the TV, the remote has no batteries), and got to 56 before admitting defeat somewhat ungraciously. I got pissed off and started kicking my fridge and punching the desk. Michael was laughing, which caused me great annoyance, and caused me to tell him not to patronise me. I had to wipe the blood up the next morning. I woke up not remembering a thing, but Michael filled me in, and some of it came back to me. Monday, Michael came to one of my lectures with me. He was tired, light-headed and ill. He fell asleep with his mouth wide open, which caused much bemusement to those nearby, and much amusement to me. I was sitting there laughing. I hope the lecturer didn't see Michael, and get offended by someone falling asleep, or see me, and worry about my sanity. I am laughing just thinking about it. Monday night, I drunk a lot in the bar. We often seem to be the only ones in the place, I am keeping them in business. I went to the toilet, and came back to find my pint had disappeared. By this time, there were about 8 others with us. One tried to convince me I'd drunk it, others claimed I'd taken it with me to the toilet, and should go back to get it. I did, stupidly, only to find my pint had made a welcome comeback on my return. All's well that ends well. While ordering a drink, some ppl kept shouting my name, and one threw 2p at me. Having lost all concept of the value of money, or having underestimated inflation, I triumphantly picked it up, and grinned at my good fortune. Strange how I wasn't that excited when faced with a stray 10 pounds. I also said to someone wanting another drink, "that's the spirit". I laughed at my unintentional pun for some time afterwards. Anyway, I was merry, chatting a lot, and we went back to someone's room. I was not badly drunk, but drunk enough to order and pay by cheque for a pizza for all of us, also drunk enough to come back twice before ordering it, and to order a small pepperoni instead of a large chicken one. I'm struggling to remember all this...on the way back to my room, I woke George up to apologise for waking him up the night before. I obviously lose all understanding of the concept of irony, when drunk. As a sidenote, my voice goes high when drunk, sometimes to a level comparable to that of someone suffering the effects of helium inhalation. Well, maybe not that much, but you get the picture.

Drunken quote of the night: "I hope we're dead when we wake up".

October 14th 2001 - I am living around pussies

Hi, here I am, Sunday morning, feeling fine. I love having a high alcohol tolerance and not ever getting hangovers. Anyway, I've had a great week, went to the Birmingham Academy on Thursday night, it was a student night, double vodka and red bull was only one pound before 9.00, two pounds after that, and the tickets were only three pounds fifty. I think I had 12 of them (drinks, not tickets), and a pint of strongbow, plus some more before we left.

Everyone else seems a pussy, and they all get pissed dead quickly. One kid fell over in the toilets, and had to have stitches on his chin. I went talking to ppl on the dance floor, ended up getting off with a fourth year student of nearly 22, can't remember much about her, remember that she was sober while I was anything but. Some kid from University of Central England was trying to start fights on us, he ended up being lamped, and went off bleeding badly. I love a bit of action. I got back at about 3.30, and managed to get up for my 9.00 lecture the following morning, I don't know how I do it. Michael (see Message Board, Fans Article, Guestbook etc) came on Friday, he's staying till Monday. You're not meant to have visitors to stay the night, but fuck rules. He had to see me pissed, after hearing my stories. On Friday he saw me down 3 pints in as many minutes, I got some funny looks off many, there. He wasn't disappointed last night, either. I don't remember all of it...I remember getting a pizza which took an hour to come, to line my stomach, buying loads of Carlings from the off licence, drinking half before the bar opened, then having about 7 pints in the bar. The ppl serving said they wouldn't serve me any more, because I'd had too much, so I got Michael to get some more. We then went to someone who'd invited us to their room's room, but they wouldn't let us in, I think we were too pissed for their liking, they knew I was pissed anyway, but me kicking a window was the last straw. Think we went with some others to order a pizza, I lay down on the floor at first, before climbing repeatedly up the edge of the stairs, as in clinging onto the bannister, and walking up sideways, a bit dangerous, some girl kept telling me to get down. I made it into a game, seeing if I could get to the top before she noticed and summoned me down. I achieved this twice, out of about 30 attempts. Some bastard nicked half my pizza, while I was in the toilets, and made out that I'd eaten it all. Taking advantage of the pissed is really not nice, but he didn't fool me, but did manage to hide my pint as well, later. Some drunken person broke into the Mail room, and started getting everyone's mail. That should've been me. Anyway, a bit later, we went to someone's room, I told ppl that I loved them, before lying down on the floor, as you do. I ended up going to my room to get more drink, but crashed out on my bed with the door open, Michael came back to my room later, good job I didn't lock the door. I think they were all worried that I'd collapsed or something, 'cause I didn't go back. Got 4 hours' sleep, got up and had a shower at 6 am. There's no doubt that I have one hell of a reputation, I hope my money doesn't run out too quickly, I'm getting through it very fast. I might even want to try studying, some time, I'm not sure though. Planning to probably get pissed again tonight, even though most ppl won't be. I've got a reputation to uphold, hope I don't do anything too stupid along the way.

October 7th 2001 - Fighting on camera

On Monday night, when all others were sober, I got pissed, and got ppl to film me on my camcorder. I was challenging ppl to arm wrestles, downing pints, taking my top off and flexing my muscles in the bar, and ended up turning the music room into a fights room. I was only messing about, but ppl thought I was actually laying into someone, and some hard Russian guy who took the arm wrestling title off me, tried to restrain me. I then started trying to imitate Beethoven on the piano, before challenging ppl to running races and doing press-ups which involved banging my nose hard on the ground, and getting that feeling you get when you are punched on ur nose. When I got back to near my room, I met some ppl, and told them I loved them, then got paranoid and told ppl that I knew they hated me. I have watched the footage on my camcorder. Shameful and embarrassing, perhaps. Enough to put you off drinking. Enough to put George Best off drinking. Should be shown in high schools, as a warning of what happens when you drink too much. People are asking to see it on the big screen TV. Not sure about that, though it'd amuse ppl. I certainly amuse all that see me in that state. It's all about memories, and I have loads now. I am only too happy to be the one remembered for being a crazy hardcore drinker. Anyhow, Tuesday, I sneaked off early and went home after lectures, thought it'd be a good idea to keep a low profile. I didn't tell ppl this, so they thought I'd died of liver failure, or was unconscious on my bed. This amused me no end. My own bed really is nice, and it's lovely when you don't have to use the showers that virtually allow other ppl see you. When I got back to halls, I apologised to the guy I seemingly started on. OK...moving on, Friday, I went for a curry, then later went to Code, a club in Birm, which was ten pounds to get in. I was offered something or other, and actually said no, amazingly. Got a hot dog after this, caught a taxi back. I really will run out of money at this rate. Yesterday, loads of us watched the England match in the big TV room. We were all ecstatic when Beckham equalised, absolutely brill. A lot of abuse shouted about Greeks along the way. Had some drinks in someone's room after, felt patriotic, went to the bar later on, had a good few, played some drinking games (name game etc), errr, then we hung about, I think it was 1 am by this time, in the reception area of the hall, and I started a "pick other ppl" up contest, but failed to lift some guy who makes sumo wrestlers look anorexic. I tried repeatedly to lift the lardass, before crashing out on the floor with back pain. We ordered pizza, I handed over money, and time seemed to stand still, virtually...I started being an idiot (whilst still lying on the hard floor), and whining about how long it was taking to come, and asking if they were lying to me about having ordered it (paranoia). When it came, we went to some guy's room, I ate it in about 3 mins, before begging to have some of other ppl's. Later on, about 3 am, I met two guys and a girl who were insomniacs, looking for other crazy insomniacs such as myself, and I tagged along with them. They made me look entirely sane and sober. One kid took to ripping the number plate off someone's door, kept pulling posters off doors, swapped names on the doors around, sticking paper to his head, and kept kicking leftover bottles about. He followed a girl into the girls' toilets. I followed him in to try to pull him out, but then thought I'd leave him to it. He soon came out, though, I think security were about. I settled for searching empty pizza boxes, and eating some of the crusts that even the ppl who paid for it didn't want. We ended up in my kitchen, before going out onto the balcony, and going across the ledge (yes, very dangerous) to the other side, risking death. One of the guys was at the uni last year, and fell out the fourth floor bedroom, when pissed, and had to have months in hospital. I'd have thought he'd have been put in a bungalow, but he's back and near me. We got back at about 4.30 am, there weren't many ppl still up, despite us hammering on their doors, and shouting their names (which are on their doors). We agreed to do it again next week, I wished I'd filmed all this. I then went back, passing a few rooms where the owners had got women in. One guy had fallen asleep. I was going to go in and talk to the woman he'd fallen asleep on, but I'm yellow, and didn't. I heard some of the guys near me talking about stripping me. I really must invest in half a dozen personal attack alarms, so that they can be let off in the ears of any ppl who attempt this. Or, I could just puke on them, that'd be funny.

October 1st 2001 - Establishing a reputation

Well, been pissed the last two nights. I am the alcoholic legend of the place. Averaged 8 pints plus some cans a night. My liver will pack up before I have time to graduate. Night before last, I got pissed, went out unconscious on my bed, but left the door open. Basically, I remember walking along the hall, carrying a saucepan with sandwiches floating in it, and with shaving foam all down me. Thought I'd done it myself, before remembering that I use an electric shaver. Some people came in and did it to me...I can't account for a good 6 hours of that night. Last night, I kept sprinting around the halls, jumping up and down stairs, before joining a gathering in someone's room, and crashing out on the floor. People thought I'd had enough, and tried to drag me along the floor, out of the room, and back to mine, but I was defiant, and held onto the door. They gave up, before I went hyper, and repeatedly played squash without the racket, almost harming innocent ppl. Crawled back to my room, holding onto the floor all the way, looked for a party in some room, that someone had told me about, but this ended up to be the shower. Went around shaking ppl's hands. Knocked on random doors, at like, 2 am...good way to meet ppl. Still looking for witnesses, who can tell me what else I did. Got my student loan cheque, got a calculator to see how many Carlings I can buy with it, then estimated how many hours it would take me to drink it. I am only too happy to be the alcoholic entertainer.