Remember all the hassle and grief I went through (and that vicariously, you went through) after I lost my bank card? Well, that was just a trial run, because on Friday my entire wallet got stolen – new bank card, credit card, cash and all. Some motherfucking pikey cunt-ass motherfucker yoinked it right out of my bag in the Good Ship. I sure hope he got a vicious papercut when he pulled out all those crisp new bank notes. Oh, hell.
Also stolen from the Good Ship over the weekend: the mixing board. Yes, someone just picked up a gigantic mixing board and trundled it off, right under the noses of the bar staff, the bouncers, and about three hundred drunken punters. That takes stones, you’ve got to admit. Is there a frat hazing going on somewhere in Kilburn?
So that happened. What else? Oh, one of our local passel of Aussies, whilst in the queue at the Chinese takeaway, decided to try out his linguistic skills. When he ordered his duck wraps he greeted the girl behind the counter with what he though was a pleasant salutation in Chinese. She gave him a bit of a confused look, so he repeated it more clearly.
“You just called me ‘monkey monkey’,” she said.
Of course now every time I see the poor bastard I yell, “Hey, monkey monkey!” It will become a common greeting phrase if it’s the last thing I do. And when word gets back to that stuck-up Chinese bitch, boy is she going to feel stupid.
Now let’s have some drunken Irish shenanigans! One of the lads’ better halves celebrated her birthday this weekend. She and her lad got absolutely rat-arsed and went to a restaurant, where they ordered fuckloads of wine and beer and a big meal. When the bill arrived, both of them groped around in their pockets and had a slurred conversation along the lines of, “I donnavanyfuckinmonney! I thouyouhadthefuckinmonney.” The lad stumbled off to the gents’ whilst his girlfriend attempted to get up from the table – in the process she smashed a glass, and when she spun around to try and catch it she smashed about three more. Excellent. The lad came out of the toilets to find her sprinting for the door. He followed suit, except that he forgot to follow her and ended up running flat-out in the opposite direction, which meant that he had to stop, turn around, and run back past the restaurant to catch up with her. I think the restaurant staff didn’t bother pursuing them because they figured they’d just run out in traffic anyway.
The same night, V was hanging out with Twee, one of our other Irish lasses. Both V and Twee were somewhat the worse for wear at the end of the evening, but they decided to bravely go forth to another bar. They collected Donut (yet another lad) and started picking their way to the door with the intention of getting a taxi. All of a sudden V turned around to find that Twee and Donut had disappeared. She assumed they’d gone to the toilets, so she stood around and waited. And then she waited. And waited. Finally she rang Twee’s mobile.
“Hello?”
“Where the fuck are you?”
“V? Hang on…where are you? HEY, STOP THE TAXI! DONUT, V ISN’T IN THE TAXI! WAIT THERE, WE’RE COMING BACK!”
V rolled her eyes, but she figured they couldn’t have gotten far. She went to the door and waited. And waited. And fucking waited. Turns out Twee had given the taxi driver perfectly clear directions to the first bar they’d gone to that evening, rather than the bar they’d just left.
“To be fair,” said Twee when she was recounting the story, “Donut did object. But I overruled him.”