Doing Damage 2002 - Reggies Stag Do !
By REG -
We got to the airport and checked in and were given boarding cards. We then headed directly for the bar, and were given beer. We smoked some fags and began to get an idea of the seriousness of Woody's flying phobia. Seemingly it is very bad. He had a couple of pints of lager and washed them down with half a litre of Jack Daniels. Just before we got on the plane Woody's condition had deteriorated considerably and he had become very agitated. Just before getting on the plane he spat a mouthful of JD at Dave. Once on the plane he started hyper ventilating and shouting the word "fuck" very loudly. Alarmingly he began to molest the man sitting next to him, and in a very aggressive manner told him how near we all were to death. The man didn't seem to mind being molested, but then we did meet him later that night with his Freddy Mercury look-alike 'friend'. I too sat next to Woody, and during the flight he pointed out to me the dangers of flying and described to me in some detail what would happen if we just fell out of the sky, something he seemed to be expecting to happen at any moment. Many of the finer points of his fear had been unknown to me before that moment, and I am now quite scared of flying myself. Touchdown then, came as something of a relief.
From the airport we travelled as quickly as we could into town and went directly to the Grasshopper where we immediately purchased a large amount of Marijuana and began at once to smoke it. Somebody suggested that it might have been a better idea to locate our accommodation before we got wrecked. This ridiculous notion was immediately rejected and we continued to smoke very heavily. Once in an acceptable state of intoxication we headed off in search of our apartment. This was my first time at The Demonnik apartments, so imagine my surprise when we actually found them. We were given our introductory tour by Hank, who was Dutch. When Hank met Woody, they shook hands and Hank said "Hank", and Woody Said "Marivn". You had to be there. We mucked about in the flat for a bit, smoked more and then headed out into town. Woody met some Arabs who followed him about for a few hours until they realised he hadn't been genuine when he'd asked for 50 pills. Oh and earlier Woody had drifted off on his own and got lost and had to phone Sam to get the address of the apartment.
On Saturday we had a full Irish breakfast, which I think is the same as a full English but is served in an Irish pub. A side order of mushrooms followed and then to soak up the booze we had some cake. The mushrooms were Mexican and the strongest available. Needless to say the enclosed instructions were given a stiff ignoring, and the full allocation was hastily consumed. If we had taken the time to consult the instructions we would have discovered that other allocations whilst under the influence of said mushrooms would be 'no problem', and we were best advised to take ourselves off to a 'place of nature', particularly if consuming the full allocation (3), as things could become 'difficult'. 'Difficult', as we were soon to discover was something of an understatement, particularly for Woody who throughout the course of the day took our understanding of the concept of 'difficult' to new levels. Two episodes are noteworthy. First was Woody's encounter with a rather bruised and very mean looking homeless person, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Sith Lord, Darth Maul. Constructed principally from driftwood, Maul was a man indistinguishable from death, the only sign of life being the glistening trail of spit, which hung from his fiercely clenched teeth. When we met him he was most definitely on the cusp. First to encounter Maul was Woody, who at the time was just becoming acquainted with his three Mexican friends who had introduced him to an entirely new way of thinking. At the time Woody was trying, in vain, to cross a busy street, and his new Mexican friends were making it more or less impossible for him to take as step. Having missed an early opportunity to make his move Woody was now paralysed in a state of complete terror. The moment to move had become too terrifying and each time he reached the zenith of his self-belief another bus or car or bike would flash into his nightmare and kill off any hope of movement. When Maul entered Woody's nightmare it was the last straw. The sum of a lifetime's fears collected in an instant, and sent Woody scampering across the road like a startled baby giraffe. Arriving shortly thereafter at the false sanctuary that was us, he collapsed on the ground and adopted the foetal position, making a low moaning sound and sucking his thumb. No sooner had Woody hit the ground, Maul was there, standing over him. It was quickly established by other relatively more sober Roys that Maul wanted money and we might secure some kind of future if we were prepared to pay for it. With outstretched hand Maul stood over our cotteril and seemed unlikely to be soothed by anybody's chat. Even as a tightly organised and well-trained collective I doubt we could have handled Maul. Reginald, unquestionably the most capable amongst us was perhaps the first to reach this conclusion, and so handed Maul enough cash to secure our freedom, and as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone, off to fight another day. Meanwhile Woody was fast becoming a source of some concern. So utterly traumatized by his experiences thus far, and fearing that the worst was yet to come, he repaired to The Demonnik. Credit must go to Dave and Jez who nursed Woody through this difficult time. The last I saw of them was a very unsteady Woody, being bundled into the back of a taxi with two very uncertain looking escorts.
The departing Roys were not the only ones facing an uncertain future. Woody's plight had formed the basis of a timely distraction to my own difficulties. Now departed the full weight of my scrutiny fell upon my own crumbling state of consciousness, and I was suddenly aware of a predicament on a much more personal level. I feel sure that had I stood staring at the ground for a second longer I might still be there now. Thankfully though Jon piped up with a suggestion, which was simultaneously adopted as the antidote to all our Mexican induced ills. He told the tale of an oasis of relief which could be found just a short tram ride away, which might provide the struggling cotteril with everything it needed to sustain life. Jon gave us a purpose, without him I have no doubt our cotteril would have struggled, and although for many the tram ride presented a distressing challenge, we were glad of the plan. Our journey took us through parts of town unfamiliar to those of us familiar with other parts of town. Our interest in pursuits other than the traditional filth centred variety is commendable, and although this is probably attributable more to our severe state of intoxication than to any new found moral rectitude, it is nonetheless a significant step forward for Roy. The moment to alight arrived and after a little mandatory walking into each other, and giggling, and being obviously wrecked, we made our comedy apologies to the unimpressed locals, and fell from the tram into a very loose and untidy cotteril on the platform. The tram pulled off and revealed a place well suited to our particular needs. It was a large public space dedicated entirely to the consumption of booze. The sense of relief and joy was tangible amongst the cotteril as we recalled how terrifying the prospect of taking public transport had been, and how we had surmounted our fears and broken free to a new and better place. I was both impressed and slightly troubled by Jon's apparent surprise at our arrival at the oasis, which it seemed had hitherto existed only in myth. Had he ever known where he was leading us? Who cares? We spent the next 3 hours/3 days/3 minutes (could have been any of the above - time seemed lost) laughing. We found ourselves in a bar called the Rolling Stone, reminiscent of a bar of the same name in Saigon famous for cheap whores and quality opium. A dark and cavernous establishment with an old rocker pulling the pints, the Rolling Stone was just the place for an unsteady cotteril to hide out and find some peace amongst the maelstrom of their thoughts.
Occupying the top corner of the bar our Roys settled in for an afternoon's drinking and telling stories. Principal amongst the storytellers was Reg with tales of Cosmic Jive, living at Highbridge and exploits in Antibes. All very funny and made funnier by the unrelenting influence of our Mexican amigos. At one point things became too much for Mick who seemed incapable of staying on his stool and appeared to be living, rather awkwardly, with the permanent threat of spontaneous combustion. So inspired by the intensity and hilarity of the moment, one Roy was moved to double his weekend verbal contribution, and muttered four words. This of course, was Satch, who up until this point had appeared completely spellbound, and had limited his interjections to the occasional thoughtful toke. Apparently and unbeknownst to me at the time, we had attracted the attentions of a loud and unruly gang of reprobates (a bit like us, but on the wrong side of harmless) who seemed intent on shattering the joyful vibe we were all enjoying. I had clocked them as they'd arrived, and remember saying, "well, at least they're not English". I think I may have shot them a couple of thousand yard stares which had encouraged the largest amongst them to come over and stand about us in a menacing Eastern European type way. I'm told that Reg had the misfortune of dealing with this situation as our friend had given up trying to interrupt me and Roy, finding us completely oblivious to anything other than our own side splitting conversation. Anyway, Reg dealt with this and they fucked off. One of them had to return shortly afterwards to recover his bag. Twat, who takes a bag on a stag do?!! Roy?!!
Meanwhile Woody was dealing with the second of his noteworthy episodes. Back at the Demonnik apartments Woody's wrong turn at the beginning of his journey had led him into all sorts of bother. Reluctant to sacrifice their own pleasure for Woody's benefit, Jez and Dave had resolved to leave him in the relative safety of Demonnik, believing, unwisely, that Woody should have the space to sort out his own problems and face his fears alone. Left to fend for himself his condition had so alarmed the cleaner, she was moved to alert the emergency services, and perhaps in the nick of time, the paramedics arrived. Finding Woody moving about the apartment on all fours in his underpants, making farmyard noises, the paramedics, being veterans of such cases (particularly round here) were quick to make their prognosis and recommended he 'eat some sugar' and 'snap out of it (you English twat)'. Woody has since sent the cleaner a 'thank you' card and some money, promising that if he should ever return to Amsterdam he would look her up. She didn't reply.
Thereafter the movements of Jez and Dave are unknown to the narrator. Suffice it to say they too may have had their problems. Again having left Woody the focus of their own concern would have shifted inwards and so began their struggle. For indeed it certainly was a tough ride. We sailed very close to the wind all day. Had we read the instructions we may not have been so bold. Do I mean bold? Perhaps naïve would be more appropriate. Ah fuck it, what am I talking about? It was brilliant.
Sunday is memorable for nothing more than England's miserable 1-1 draw with Sweden, and the tired limp home.
If there is a moral of the story it is this: never read the instructions!
We got to the airport and checked in and were given boarding cards. We then headed directly for the bar, and were given beer. We smoked some fags and began to get an idea of the seriousness of Woody's flying phobia. Seemingly it is very bad. He had a couple of pints of lager and washed them down with half a litre of Jack Daniels. Just before we got on the plane Woody's condition had deteriorated considerably and he had become very agitated. Just before getting on the plane he spat a mouthful of JD at Dave. Once on the plane he started hyper ventilating and shouting the word "fuck" very loudly. Alarmingly he began to molest the man sitting next to him, and in a very aggressive manner told him how near we all were to death. The man didn't seem to mind being molested, but then we did meet him later that night with his Freddy Mercury look-alike 'friend'. I too sat next to Woody, and during the flight he pointed out to me the dangers of flying and described to me in some detail what would happen if we just fell out of the sky, something he seemed to be expecting to happen at any moment. Many of the finer points of his fear had been unknown to me before that moment, and I am now quite scared of flying myself. Touchdown then, came as something of a relief.
From the airport we travelled as quickly as we could into town and went directly to the Grasshopper where we immediately purchased a large amount of Marijuana and began at once to smoke it. Somebody suggested that it might have been a better idea to locate our accommodation before we got wrecked. This ridiculous notion was immediately rejected and we continued to smoke very heavily. Once in an acceptable state of intoxication we headed off in search of our apartment. This was my first time at The Demonnik apartments, so imagine my surprise when we actually found them. We were given our introductory tour by Hank, who was Dutch. When Hank met Woody, they shook hands and Hank said "Hank", and Woody Said "Marivn". You had to be there. We mucked about in the flat for a bit, smoked more and then headed out into town. Woody met some Arabs who followed him about for a few hours until they realised he hadn't been genuine when he'd asked for 50 pills. Oh and earlier Woody had drifted off on his own and got lost and had to phone Sam to get the address of the apartment.
On Saturday we had a full Irish breakfast, which I think is the same as a full English but is served in an Irish pub. A side order of mushrooms followed and then to soak up the booze we had some cake. The mushrooms were Mexican and the strongest available. Needless to say the enclosed instructions were given a stiff ignoring, and the full allocation was hastily consumed. If we had taken the time to consult the instructions we would have discovered that other allocations whilst under the influence of said mushrooms would be 'no problem', and we were best advised to take ourselves off to a 'place of nature', particularly if consuming the full allocation (3), as things could become 'difficult'. 'Difficult', as we were soon to discover was something of an understatement, particularly for Woody who throughout the course of the day took our understanding of the concept of 'difficult' to new levels. Two episodes are noteworthy. First was Woody's encounter with a rather bruised and very mean looking homeless person, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Sith Lord, Darth Maul. Constructed principally from driftwood, Maul was a man indistinguishable from death, the only sign of life being the glistening trail of spit, which hung from his fiercely clenched teeth. When we met him he was most definitely on the cusp. First to encounter Maul was Woody, who at the time was just becoming acquainted with his three Mexican friends who had introduced him to an entirely new way of thinking. At the time Woody was trying, in vain, to cross a busy street, and his new Mexican friends were making it more or less impossible for him to take as step. Having missed an early opportunity to make his move Woody was now paralysed in a state of complete terror. The moment to move had become too terrifying and each time he reached the zenith of his self-belief another bus or car or bike would flash into his nightmare and kill off any hope of movement. When Maul entered Woody's nightmare it was the last straw. The sum of a lifetime's fears collected in an instant, and sent Woody scampering across the road like a startled baby giraffe. Arriving shortly thereafter at the false sanctuary that was us, he collapsed on the ground and adopted the foetal position, making a low moaning sound and sucking his thumb. No sooner had Woody hit the ground, Maul was there, standing over him. It was quickly established by other relatively more sober Roys that Maul wanted money and we might secure some kind of future if we were prepared to pay for it. With outstretched hand Maul stood over our cotteril and seemed unlikely to be soothed by anybody's chat. Even as a tightly organised and well-trained collective I doubt we could have handled Maul. Reginald, unquestionably the most capable amongst us was perhaps the first to reach this conclusion, and so handed Maul enough cash to secure our freedom, and as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone, off to fight another day. Meanwhile Woody was fast becoming a source of some concern. So utterly traumatized by his experiences thus far, and fearing that the worst was yet to come, he repaired to The Demonnik. Credit must go to Dave and Jez who nursed Woody through this difficult time. The last I saw of them was a very unsteady Woody, being bundled into the back of a taxi with two very uncertain looking escorts.
The departing Roys were not the only ones facing an uncertain future. Woody's plight had formed the basis of a timely distraction to my own difficulties. Now departed the full weight of my scrutiny fell upon my own crumbling state of consciousness, and I was suddenly aware of a predicament on a much more personal level. I feel sure that had I stood staring at the ground for a second longer I might still be there now. Thankfully though Jon piped up with a suggestion, which was simultaneously adopted as the antidote to all our Mexican induced ills. He told the tale of an oasis of relief which could be found just a short tram ride away, which might provide the struggling cotteril with everything it needed to sustain life. Jon gave us a purpose, without him I have no doubt our cotteril would have struggled, and although for many the tram ride presented a distressing challenge, we were glad of the plan. Our journey took us through parts of town unfamiliar to those of us familiar with other parts of town. Our interest in pursuits other than the traditional filth centred variety is commendable, and although this is probably attributable more to our severe state of intoxication than to any new found moral rectitude, it is nonetheless a significant step forward for Roy. The moment to alight arrived and after a little mandatory walking into each other, and giggling, and being obviously wrecked, we made our comedy apologies to the unimpressed locals, and fell from the tram into a very loose and untidy cotteril on the platform. The tram pulled off and revealed a place well suited to our particular needs. It was a large public space dedicated entirely to the consumption of booze. The sense of relief and joy was tangible amongst the cotteril as we recalled how terrifying the prospect of taking public transport had been, and how we had surmounted our fears and broken free to a new and better place. I was both impressed and slightly troubled by Jon's apparent surprise at our arrival at the oasis, which it seemed had hitherto existed only in myth. Had he ever known where he was leading us? Who cares? We spent the next 3 hours/3 days/3 minutes (could have been any of the above - time seemed lost) laughing. We found ourselves in a bar called the Rolling Stone, reminiscent of a bar of the same name in Saigon famous for cheap whores and quality opium. A dark and cavernous establishment with an old rocker pulling the pints, the Rolling Stone was just the place for an unsteady cotteril to hide out and find some peace amongst the maelstrom of their thoughts.
Occupying the top corner of the bar our Roys settled in for an afternoon's drinking and telling stories. Principal amongst the storytellers was Reg with tales of Cosmic Jive, living at Highbridge and exploits in Antibes. All very funny and made funnier by the unrelenting influence of our Mexican amigos. At one point things became too much for Mick who seemed incapable of staying on his stool and appeared to be living, rather awkwardly, with the permanent threat of spontaneous combustion. So inspired by the intensity and hilarity of the moment, one Roy was moved to double his weekend verbal contribution, and muttered four words. This of course, was Satch, who up until this point had appeared completely spellbound, and had limited his interjections to the occasional thoughtful toke. Apparently and unbeknownst to me at the time, we had attracted the attentions of a loud and unruly gang of reprobates (a bit like us, but on the wrong side of harmless) who seemed intent on shattering the joyful vibe we were all enjoying. I had clocked them as they'd arrived, and remember saying, "well, at least they're not English". I think I may have shot them a couple of thousand yard stares which had encouraged the largest amongst them to come over and stand about us in a menacing Eastern European type way. I'm told that Reg had the misfortune of dealing with this situation as our friend had given up trying to interrupt me and Roy, finding us completely oblivious to anything other than our own side splitting conversation. Anyway, Reg dealt with this and they fucked off. One of them had to return shortly afterwards to recover his bag. Twat, who takes a bag on a stag do?!! Roy?!!
Meanwhile Woody was dealing with the second of his noteworthy episodes. Back at the Demonnik apartments Woody's wrong turn at the beginning of his journey had led him into all sorts of bother. Reluctant to sacrifice their own pleasure for Woody's benefit, Jez and Dave had resolved to leave him in the relative safety of Demonnik, believing, unwisely, that Woody should have the space to sort out his own problems and face his fears alone. Left to fend for himself his condition had so alarmed the cleaner, she was moved to alert the emergency services, and perhaps in the nick of time, the paramedics arrived. Finding Woody moving about the apartment on all fours in his underpants, making farmyard noises, the paramedics, being veterans of such cases (particularly round here) were quick to make their prognosis and recommended he 'eat some sugar' and 'snap out of it (you English twat)'. Woody has since sent the cleaner a 'thank you' card and some money, promising that if he should ever return to Amsterdam he would look her up. She didn't reply.
Thereafter the movements of Jez and Dave are unknown to the narrator. Suffice it to say they too may have had their problems. Again having left Woody the focus of their own concern would have shifted inwards and so began their struggle. For indeed it certainly was a tough ride. We sailed very close to the wind all day. Had we read the instructions we may not have been so bold. Do I mean bold? Perhaps naïve would be more appropriate. Ah fuck it, what am I talking about? It was brilliant.
Sunday is memorable for nothing more than England's miserable 1-1 draw with Sweden, and the tired limp home.
If there is a moral of the story it is this: never read the instructions!
