24 Apr 2004

It was the annual hockey dinner last night at the Falcon. About a hundred and fifty people were invited. This year is the 21st anniversary of the creation of Bude Hockey Club and faces from the mist of the past came along. Someone also managed to get some chap called John Shaw to come along. Noone knew who he was or what he wanted but apparently he used to play for the Great Britain hockey side in days gone by. Through the haze of alcohol I seem to remember him telling me about playing along side the likes of Sean Curley (fuck it, that's not how you spell his name) and the One, the Only, Imran Sherwani (that doesn't look right either.) John told me that Imran now works in a newsagency. How the mighty must fall. There's never been any money in hockey anyway. God, what am I writing? This is just so terribly boring. I'm sending myself to sleep. Why was I writing about this anyway?

So, everybody in tux's apart from Bruce who simply insists on being different. Aloof. Out there. Better than that. Untouchable style. Bruce was wearing his cotton beige summer suit and, wait for it, flip-flops. Yes, I am a player of great and mighty integrity. The fact that I seem to have left my nice shiny boots in some flop-house in Derby had nothing to do with it. More likely, I settled on the flip-flops because the day before I had my ankle coloured in and the bastard was hurting plenty. No, true but not entirely. I just liked the idea of it. Of course, it went down incredibly well.

Alcohol. Lots of it. Jack called me up beforehand to tell me that he had just got home from the pub and was worried that he might have drunk too much. In the two hour interval between him finishing at the dental practice and slurring to me down the phone, he had managed to sink five pints in the sun. He wondered if I thought he had shot his bolt and I concurred, telling him that he had made a school-boy error. I told him to drink as much water as possible immediately and eat bread and have a shower and sleep for twenty minutes by which time I would be there to slap him about a bit and then drive him to the dinner. He saw the night through like a trooper. He is of hardy stock.

Alcohol everywhere. Some funny bastard who had decided upon the seating plan sat me, 27 and a well known joker and general deviant, on a table of fifteen year olds. Apart from Dan that is, who is sixteen and the only person who rambles on about irrelevant bollocks as much as me. So, actually, now I think about it, the seating planner was very cunning. We just sat there and argued about napkins and golf shots and shaving and then we starting ordering wine and then I started buying vodka for the three fifteen year old girls sat to my left who weren't making any effort at being evenly mildly interesting. Three vodkas later and Simone is telling the whole table about her horse's penis and then this strange lady comes across from an 'adults' table and asks her what she's been drinking and then looks at me and scowls. I smile back at her and carry on talking to Dan who then tells me that is Simone's mother and she is a lay preacher and my soul is in trouble.

Then John Shaw stands up to make a speech and the man is the worst speech giver I have ever had the utmost displeasure to endure. He rambles on about things utterly irrelevant to everybody in the room and finally, eventually he sits down and takes a minute to remove my fork from his eyebrow. No, that's not true. Later, however, I did accost him as he sat all alone at his table sipping on a coke and told him that his speech was crap and he must get some help. He then suggested I write them for him and I told him that I could and so he took my email address and I walked off with his pen. I was very drunk by this point.

Then the dancing started and Steph and I had a dance and then we had a few more. I was twirling her about and she was looking and feeling very, very lovely indeed. We had the occasional break which I would spend telling her other half Allan what a lucky chap he was and doesn't she have a great arse and check out that cleavage. He was nodding sagely, as if to say, 'Bruce, my boy, you enjoy yourself with my woman and try, if you like, to take her. You have two chances, N and O.' I do remember kissing her and that was lovely. I then went and told Allan that I had kissed his wife and he smiled at me and patted me on the head.

After we had been kicked out I started on Viviene, a vision in crimson. Little did I know that she had just propositioned my good friend Jason, in earshot of Tammy with the result that Jason had left to get some air and he never came back. He told me today that he suddenly had the urge to flee the Falcon and go for a walk on the beach, leaving the ladies to each other. I then suggested that he might have just missed the opportunity of a very physical threesome and he was quiet for a moment and then he swore. At this point I remember trying to talk Viv into a snog but she, somehow, resisted. As she was getting into her car to grab her jacket, I approached from the rear. She screamed and jumped in the car as I followed her in.

"Come on Viv, give us a kiss. You're gorrrrgeous!"

"Bruce, fuck off!"

Then she started throwing shoes at me and clothes and a box of tissues and finally I relented. Thank God.

It was a very good night.

I played golf today, the first time this year. The sun was out, it was hot, not a cloud, that sort of day. As Jason and I started on the third tee this old boy trundles up and asks if we mind if he joins us. I was 'awwwwwing' just before I told him that it wasn't okay when Jason tells him that he doesn't mind. That was that then. This old boy, by the name of Allan, appeared to be a bit of a tosser and I kept raising my eyes to the heavens when he started telling me how I should change my stance. However, when he started praising my natural draw I warmed to the chap. By the eighth green he is telling me his golfing lifestory and I am listening. It turns out that he has had a hip replaced, a new knee and four fingers rejointed and then he sinks his second shot for a birdie. Wait, this is fucking irrelevant. I'm going to bed.

Comments: Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?