The "Not your finest hour" thread...

[Jah Lush]

phobic3000 Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> I was a drummer in a band at college and for our

> big end of college celebration we hired a hall in

> Fairfield halls. I got hammered, stomped on the

> bass drum pedal so hard that it split the skin.

> That meant nobody else could play. Whilst I was

> "performing" I felt nobody was listening. Probably

> because they were happily spending time with their

> mates. Anyway after the song I walked up to the

> mic, said "f*ck all you lot" and walked off.

>

> Felt like a complete knob and still feel bad about

> it now. In fact I declined the reunion as I'm so

> embarrassed about it.

Why? That is so punk rock.

[phobic3000]

Ha ha that was what the others in the band said! Still felt like a tit though.

[Salsaboy]

At a mate's wedding 20 or so years ago, my closest friend and I found a video camera left unattended on one of the tables. With both of us being completely off our heads on free booze, we thought it would be a good idea to make a *ahem* contribution to the video tape, so we picked it up and wandered into the gents where I aimed the camera at his groin area and my friend (who is quite well endowed)whipped his tackle out, left it on view for about 5 seconds and then put it away again. Camera replaced on the table where we found it and voila! the perfect crime. No faces, no talking, no identifying features.

Apparently it was our drunken giggling that gave us away when the tape was viewed on the happy couples return from their honeymoon.

[Drxyster]

In the late sixties I had a group of friends that worked in a print shop, one of them Michael I believe was due to get married. On his stag night he was unbelievably drunk and a number of his colleagues / friends had a can of bright green printers ink. Michael in his unconscious state had this applied to his wedding tackle.

The honeymoon night his bride said "you are not coming anywhere near me with that". Michael slept on top of the bed and conjugal rights were not resumed until normal colour service had resumed.

[MrBen]

david_carnell Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> HMB - c'mon....you can do better than that.

>

> I'm thinking your tales from Bar Story alone could

> dominate this thread!

I'm guessing he's carefully saving them all for the book.

[LadyDeliah]

About 20 years ago my boss took everyone at work out for a drink in Upper Street.

Over the evening everyone disappeared until it was just me and the boss, who, unbeknownst to me, was an alcoholic.

So after trying to keep up with her until I could barely stand, she put me in a cab and sent me home. I puked all over the cab and myself so he kicked me out somewhere in the city. I was a total mess, covered in vomit and barely able to walk when I managed to flag down a black cab

He drove me back to elephant, driving slowly and stopping every time I needed to puke and even helped me get my key in the lock of my flat.

I stumbled into bed fully dressed, stinking of booze and vomit, saying 'help me' like Goldblum in the fly and my husband had to undress me and put me to bed.

Next morning, still off my face, I had to drag myself to work.

Definitely not my finest hour!

[steveo]

Strolling up Marylebone High Street in the summer sun, shades on, white shirt, looking cooler than a cool thing and SPLOSH, from a great height a half pint of pigeon shit went down through my hair, glasses, front of face, shirt and trousers.

I had no handkerchief or money on me so I had to sort of wipe it away with my hand and walk back to work not looking so cool any more, listen to a lot of mocking laughter, then scrub up a bit and go to Take 6 to purchase a new wardrobe

[Salsaboy]

I set my mum's bed alight once. Literally. Fire brigade and everything.

[Jah Lush]

I thought these two little gems from the pen of the late Jeffrey Bernard are worthy of this thread.

The first one concerns the ski slopes of Switzerland and the other a train journey to Sevenoaks.

It seems that a few years ago a group of English people went on a skiing holiday somewhere in Switzlerland. One day they were at the top of a long run preparing to descend when their instructor warned them to go to the lavatory first, as it was going to be quite a trip down and back to the hotel. Those who wanted to did so. One young woman decided not to bother and then, as the group set off downhill, she changed her mind, detached herself from the others and went behind a tree for a pee. As she squatted down to do the business, her skis began slowly to move, as she was on a slope. In no time at all she had gathered momentum and was soon careering down the hill, her ski-pants around her ankles and peeing all the while.

The next day she returned to England, and in the back of the aeroplane where she sat the crew had accommodated a man on a stretcher. Both his legs were in plaster and he had a bandage around his head. They started talking and she asked him how he had had such an appalling accident. He said, "Well, it is quite ridiculous really, and you probably won't believe it. I was out skiing yesterday morning when to my utter amazement a woman came whizzing past me with her pants around her ankles and peeing as she sped along. I was mesmerised and tears of laughter were running down my face, and I crashed straight into a tree."

End of story. Or is it? When I reflect on it, I like to think that they are now happily married and settled down and will be on the slopes together this coming season.

Here's the other if even more bizarre tale concerning a young man, the son of an affluent bookmaker who had offices near Simpson's in Piccadilly. His father gave an office party one day and the son duly attended. He was green and inexperienced, ignorant of drink and its attendant dangers. For an hour he mixed champagne with whisky - disastrous. He lost control and inadvertently - how can I put it politely? - evacuated his bowels.

With a mixture of panic and embarrassment he staggered into Simpson's and asked an assistant for a pair of trousers. "What sort of trousers?" he was asked "Any," he said, "any at all. The first pair that comes to hand."

He left the shop with his purchase and hailed a taxi to take him to Charing Cross to get the train home. Once the train was moving, he went to the lavatory to clean himself up as best he could. Having done that, and as the train was speeding through the suburbs, he threw his dirty pants and trousers out of the window. And then, with what one can only imagine to have been a long sigh of relief, he put his hand in the Simpson's carrier bag to pull out his new trousers. The only thing in the bag was a V-neck pullover. He had been given the wrong bag. That is all we know.

Since I read this story I have laid awake at night trying to picture the scene. I presume he put his legs through the sleeves of the jersey, but what I want to know is where did he put the exposed V of the jersey. To the front or his rear? I wonder, too, what the ticket collector thought, let alone the other passengers alighting at Sevenoaks. He is probably a broken man now and gets out of the train either at the stop before Sevenoaks or the stop after in order to go home by taxi. He is now almost certainly a teetotaller.

There are holes in this story, but apparently it is true. I am afraid I rather hope so. Poor man.

[Parkdrive]

Jah, that second story sound amazingly similar to one Spike Milligan used to tell on various talk shows in 70's about a guy he knew in the army that had dysentery.

[Jah Lush]

That's probably where he got it from. I think they call it artistic license.

[BunnyBurrow]

When I was 17 I was walking along on a Friday night with my mate, happy as larry, a little worse for wear after several vodka and cokes. As often happens in said inebriated state I stumbled and hit the deck. But because I had my hands in my pockets and my reactions being a tad slower than normal I literally face-planted the pavement, landing my upper central incisors, the impact only cushioned by my top lip.

Needless to say I looked a right state. Thanking my lucky stars that I hadn't knocked my teeth right out, or even chipped them at all I went home with a great big fat lip.

The moral of the story. You can walk along drunk, you can walk along with your hands in your pockets, but NEVER AT THE SAME TIME!

I spent the whole weekend staring in the mirror, willing the swelling to go down. It didn't. The worst part of it all was having to go into college on the Monday with a top lip 3 times the normal size. At 17, mortified didn't cover it.

I still can't listen to Slippery People by Talking Heads without thinking about that night.

[Seabag]

My ex wife is special needs teacher and we used to attend parties in Eastbourne, on occassions. I hated it, because near always the other people attending were 'special needs' teachers, added to which, the host was much like Tony out of Abigail's Party. But as you do, you grin and bear these things and find fun in the margins, because one thing for sure is many 'special needs' teachers are fairly special needs themselves deep down. So add alchohol and all sorts of shinanigans can occur

Anyway, I'd been to a few of these and each time it got harder for me to go, i'd often try and make somekind of excuse to get out of it, usually with little success. However, the last (and final time) I went I was in a fairly bouyant (chemically induced) mood, oh yes. And I managed a couple of pints nearby to take the edge off. I felt great as we left the pub, specially after a little livener.

So of we went to the party and as usual the drink flowed hard and fast, but so did the thing keeping the effects of the alchohol I was pouring down my throat at bay. Something had to give and this stuff ran out, and the drink came at me in full force.

The hostess and her husband were very proud of their new white/cream carpet outside the loo. "She'll kill anyone who messes with that" Tony man smirked in his nasal tone, but I heeded his warning as Mrs Tony definitely wore the trousers and really wasn't for 'messing with'. Anyway I carefully managed to get myself into the loo, though I was coming over all giddy from the booze, so I dropped my trousera, sat down and proceeded to evacuate my bowels with some force

From this point I think I passed out, falling forawrds and banging my head on the basin as I keeled near naked off the bog. The room was tiny and I didn't fit into the full length of the room at full stretch, so after banging the basin I proceeded to headbut the door, which flew open

Now I'm pretty dazed and the shock causes me become empty of all the red wine in my stomach, which was quite a lot. Enough to easily cover the new hall flooring as i'm laying there. The last thing I think I remember was watching people's feet and seeing a pink/red carpet

The rest i'll have to trust my ex on, but she ended up assiting me quite intensely. My backside was bare naked and I was laying in a lake of Red wine, the bog need a hard flushing, and I needed dressing again. She dutifuly did all these and helped me to our place where we were staying. Not before i'd managed to say good bye, more by geture really than the actual words. I gave Tony man's balls a good squeeze and told his wife "See, he's the man of the house, he's got the balls" or something to that effect

Safe to say we didn't attend the Sunday lunch the following day. And i'd also managed to upset the huband of the girl we stayed with by calling him a 'wa*ker' for hiding betting slips around the place. I think the fianl straw was me waking up in the morning and looking at the ceiling of a strange room and shouting "What the f*ck, where am I" to which my ex says "You do remember don't you?"

"Remember what?" I asked

So she explained in great detail the final exit from the party and my subsequent banishment from Eastbourne. I was quite proud of myself, i'd finally killed my invation off, specially as I still to this day don't much remember the last bits.

My ex and I are still friends 17 years later. Easbourne Tony is no longer with his wife, but she's now with her wife.

[cella]

Not really enjoying this thread. Most of the posts are kinda sad.

[Otta]

Isn't that the point.

Hopefully we've all moved on from these darker days.

[Seabag]

That is the point, even at our lowest we forgive and laugh even

It bears our vunerability, along with kicking our own egos into touch. And when we reveal that much of ourselves we accept ourselves in the cold light of day

Also swearing, never again! (hopefully/thankfully)

[BunnyBurrow]

Seabag Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> That is the point, even at our lowest we forgive

> and laugh even

>

> It bears our vunerability, along with kicking our

> own egos into touch. And when we reveal that much

> of ourselves we accept ourselves in the cold light

> of day

>

> Also swearing, never again! (hopefully/thankfully)

Here here Seabag!

[Lowlander]

cella Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> Not really enjoying this thread. Most of the posts

> are kinda sad.

This is one of the funniest threads I've ever read. Everyone has done something regrettable once in their lives. Hats off to those who did it in spectacular fashion!