Barry's Beef

I had to pop into work yesterday as I had to pick up my Australian dollars. So after poodling off to the Travel Office I went down to the Sports and Social and met my soon-to-be-departed chum, Hepatitis Boy for a few bevvies and to watch some darts. All was well until nature took its toll and I needed the conveniences and saw this charming image. Bare in mind that these toilets had previously been out of action after someone left such a fearsome floater that no cleaner tackled it for about three weeks. I can only assume that the cleaners are already off for Christmas already. Someone's taking the piss. You know that cleaners should, I don't know, clean. No butts.

Labels: cigarettes and toilets, Sports and Social

The Lord Lucan is a fine upstanding gent. A little hidden fact of the mysterious aristocrat would be that he is a total lush. A drunk. A sorry shadow of a man. I exagerrate, but you get the point. Giving this unrepenting drunk authority over karaoke is, therefore, a stroke of genius. Without wishing to be too pious (hangovers aplenty to go today) the good Lord was absolutely steaming from the very start.
No sadder sight than a drunk Lord (or more disgustingly perverted in the case of one pin-stripe suited unelected Member of the Other Place) trying to sing. But, alas, fair play; he's a game old boy and can hold his head up high (unless, of course, he chucks up).
Less distinguished would be, in the red corner, Gutbuster (28) vs. the perennial contender, Recess Monkey (30). Indeed the waistline vs. the ego. Now Gutbuster brings a lot to the table including an astounding, insatiable appetite, but the one skill of which he is the proudest is his singing capability. Now I suspect that Gutbuster comes from an illustrious family of Welsh Male Choirs. Indeed with his fiercely held Socialist principles you can almost picture the well-upholstered gent being part of a colliery choir, merrily singing to one and all within earshot. Yet on the three (I think) occassions I have heard Gutbuster sing, I would say underwhelmed would be the most applicable word. This time, I felt for the lad, after a distinctly disappointing effort, his head was actually dropping onto his chest. A broken man. But one thing is for sure, he got up, gave it some and is more deserving than yours truly who recognising the limits to his talents does not do karaoke.
Or should that read, does not do karaoke anymore; for one primate who has seen me displaying my singing prowess would be, ironically, Recess Monkey. This sorry, sorry episode, culminated with a very drunken refrain of "Vote Nikki Gavron for Mayor" during the instrumental part of Tom Jones' "Delilah", is documented on video which is somewhere in my bedroom. Hidden quite intentionally.
As time ticks by it becomes apparent that Recess Monkey is not in the House. Where is the hairy, little fellow? Time continues to fly by when I go to sign a chum in and who should be there as well but Recess Monkey with what he would claim to be his girlfriend and girlfriend's father but anyone else, myself included, would interpret as a Beyonce-esque entourage. For a simian, he is such a diva. Monkey, however, is distraught to discover that he is too late to enter the fray and behind his ever-genial manner, is a deep-seated anger.
It is strange, I admit, to compare karaoke to boxing, but when Audley Harrison 'didn't turn up' for his match with Danny Williams (the first fight) he ended up planted on his derriere. In this case, Recess Monkey ends up arguably better off than the now near-suicidal Gutbuster.

Labels: Gutbuster, karaoke, Recess Monkey, Sports and Social

It is with some trepidation that I blog this. Of course, I shall preserve the unfortunate hero's anonymity. He knows who he is, I assume she knows who she is but, frankly, I am none too sure on this one. So why this sudden about turn in deciding to blog? Well that old sage, my mentor, the Mr Myagi to my Daniel-san, Recess Monkey blogged this and concluded with the sorry tale of rutting in disabled toilets. Like all good stories, I'll start at the beginning. Actually the very beginning. A little known fact is that 93% of all conceptions are caused by booze. Family planning, like condoms and common-sense, tend to go out of the window quicker than Wacko Jacko dangling one of his kids. So imagine if a chap had, for instance, been imbibing for a good, few hours and imagine if simultaneously a woman had got into an equally sorry state. Stick with me, but imagine if said man and said woman then got talking to each other. And imagine if said 'couple' continued to drink. Inconceivable as it is, imagine if talk wandered to the more intimate. And imagine if drinks had dulled the senses into thinking that having sex where you work is a good, even desirable, outcome. Of course, it's foolhardy; I can picture my legion of fans poo-pooing the idea. "Sex? At work? No way, Barry. Not me." Well what happens when the unimaginable, the unthinkable, the inconceivable, the ludicrous comes to pass? Everyone has a good laugh and some smart ass (in this case me, in another case Mr Monkey) decides to blog it for all asundry to have a read.
The couple of particpants in this game of drunk love proceeded to attempt intercourse outside a pub, literally out of the door, turn left and it's there. Perhaps a commemorative blue plaque will be issued? So what stopped alcohol's young dream? Perhaps too much inebriation? I would say this is certainly a delaying factor. Also disturbing would be bar manager seeing said man with arse hanging out as he goes to change a barrel (here I should clear up any confusion, it's the bar manager changing the barrel rather than our Romeo). And then the coup de grace would probably be security (probably some fat, doughnut boy) seeing you and telling you to stop. But, of course, alcohol works wonders so it is left to Her Majesty's constabulary to call the sorry episode off and castigate the offending couple for being drunken fools. Said woman's alleged over-sensitive reaction would, of course, be all too predictable. It is with a fitting touch of irony that I can inform anyone reading this who isn't Brian Sewell (a man who evokes a watered-down reaction in me to what Jeremy Clarkson elicits) that the picture in this post is called "The Ladder of Divine Ascent"
. In this case, there existing a small line between divinity and decadence. Just to assuage any fears you may harbour that the poor lady is with child; I would conclude that, unlike some, I do not buy the story of the immaculate conception. Confuscious say: "Too much booze cause brewer's droop".

Labels: sex, Sports and Social, too much booze

Today, as you should all by now know, is Super Chrissy Waddle's birthday. Chris is a legend, a truly magnificent player and given that tonight is also the Sports and Social Karaoke night, here's another treat for you. My gosh, are my readers not the luckiest in the whole blogosphere?

Labels: 14th December, Chris Waddle, karaoke, Sports and Social