Lord Monkey McGee :: Monkey Tamer
Yawn. Yawn. Yawn.
What a hectic week.
The 36 hours in London last week was manic to say the least!:
Getting there we narrowly avoided a serious crash, missed the train, got off at wrong tube station, struggled to find hotel (then found one of us, our 'guide' had had a map but could'nt read it!).
Once at the bar/pub event, all and sundry were smashed within 4 hours. I was with the owners and manager of the Shambles bar/restaurant, there under the assumption we would be trying all manner of contraptions for kitchens/bar, and sampling every drink we might possibly decide to sell. Although they all had serious badges on stating their names and titles - I was Lord Monkey McGee: Monkey Tamer. After assuring vendors this was actually a joke badge and that it meant I was in charge of staff, I was offered samples too. Initially there were lots of furtive nods, questions, and genuine interest in products. But that did'nt last long. Although I would never descend to the "Shuddup and just Gimme, gimme, gimme!" tactics one of my companions went for! *sigh*
Cue more pubs, trip into Soho, an insane bike taxi race/battle through London streets, 5 hours more drinks and dancing in a club, somehow finding a casino, then magically arriving back at the hotel at a very respectable 3am.
Then the screaming began...
...Jumping out of bed, dazed, drunk, not knowing where I was there were screams coming from the bathroom. "Dave! Dave! Help me! HELP ME!".
I thought my room mate, who I'd left at the casino (he lost a fortune!), had fallen, probably slicing open his arm in the bathroom or something and was in agony!
As I got to the bathroom entrance I saw my size-able room mate, in just his under-crackers, astride the loo, and a fountain of water hitting the ceiling, water absolutely everywhere!
"Apparently" he had flushed the loo, and it would'nt stop flushing. So, as you do when you are smashed at 5.30am, he decided to rip the fastened down cistern top off. Moving the ball cock did'nt have an effect, so grabbing the lot, he pulled all the tool fastened fixings out of the cistern - with predicable results.
Fortunately, screwing up flannels and forcing them down the pipes stemmed the flow.
Later that morning I noticed that my room mate had also decided that the best way to stem the flow of a massive, massive, nosebleed would be to use the white bedclothes as a hanky. There were splatters of rouge all the way over onto my bed.
Striding naked through the room he also declared that he would use the "2nd" loo, as we had better not touch anything to do with the rest of the plumbing. Though when I challenged him as to why there was an orange juice all around the edge of the sink, he stated it could'nt be "orange", as he had rested his 'berries', *ahem*, on the edge as he had relieved himself.
I decided to use the bathroom in another room.
I doubt any of us would dare use that hotel again.
And then there was the long bank holiday weekend...
What a hectic week.
The 36 hours in London last week was manic to say the least!:
Getting there we narrowly avoided a serious crash, missed the train, got off at wrong tube station, struggled to find hotel (then found one of us, our 'guide' had had a map but could'nt read it!).
Once at the bar/pub event, all and sundry were smashed within 4 hours. I was with the owners and manager of the Shambles bar/restaurant, there under the assumption we would be trying all manner of contraptions for kitchens/bar, and sampling every drink we might possibly decide to sell. Although they all had serious badges on stating their names and titles - I was Lord Monkey McGee: Monkey Tamer. After assuring vendors this was actually a joke badge and that it meant I was in charge of staff, I was offered samples too. Initially there were lots of furtive nods, questions, and genuine interest in products. But that did'nt last long. Although I would never descend to the "Shuddup and just Gimme, gimme, gimme!" tactics one of my companions went for! *sigh*
Cue more pubs, trip into Soho, an insane bike taxi race/battle through London streets, 5 hours more drinks and dancing in a club, somehow finding a casino, then magically arriving back at the hotel at a very respectable 3am.
Then the screaming began...
...Jumping out of bed, dazed, drunk, not knowing where I was there were screams coming from the bathroom. "Dave! Dave! Help me! HELP ME!".
I thought my room mate, who I'd left at the casino (he lost a fortune!), had fallen, probably slicing open his arm in the bathroom or something and was in agony!
As I got to the bathroom entrance I saw my size-able room mate, in just his under-crackers, astride the loo, and a fountain of water hitting the ceiling, water absolutely everywhere!
"Apparently" he had flushed the loo, and it would'nt stop flushing. So, as you do when you are smashed at 5.30am, he decided to rip the fastened down cistern top off. Moving the ball cock did'nt have an effect, so grabbing the lot, he pulled all the tool fastened fixings out of the cistern - with predicable results.
Fortunately, screwing up flannels and forcing them down the pipes stemmed the flow.
Later that morning I noticed that my room mate had also decided that the best way to stem the flow of a massive, massive, nosebleed would be to use the white bedclothes as a hanky. There were splatters of rouge all the way over onto my bed.
Striding naked through the room he also declared that he would use the "2nd" loo, as we had better not touch anything to do with the rest of the plumbing. Though when I challenged him as to why there was an orange juice all around the edge of the sink, he stated it could'nt be "orange", as he had rested his 'berries', *ahem*, on the edge as he had relieved himself.
I decided to use the bathroom in another room.
I doubt any of us would dare use that hotel again.
And then there was the long bank holiday weekend...