Once again, hungover, I headed up to my husband's homeland with him yesterday for the wonderful Daniel's 40th birthday. My parents had given us 24 hours' babysitting from 1pm yesterday so needless to say we dropped the kids off and legged it at a respectable 1.02pm.
Man Utd kicked off at 5.30pm so the plan was that Stu would head to the pub while I had a bath. I was worried about navigating my way around a strange town but luckily we were staying in a Travelodge in the pub car park. Convenient. Really fucking nasty, but convenient.
I got my gladrags on and opened our bedroom door to go and join my husband in the boozer. However, I opened my bedroom door to find one of Stu's bezzies, Nick, standing right outside it. He claims he was waiting for another mate of his who was staying in the room next door to me. I saw no evidence of this bloke being in that room though and just warned Nick that if I found him outside my room at a later point in the evening, I would not be so understanding. ;-)
All 17 of us were in the pub by 6pm. These guys know how to party and a soft pansy southerner like myself had to strap my drinking boots firmly on to have any chance of keeping up. We hit the curry house at 7pm and Stu had a big gay fit as I hadn't saved him a seat and he'd gone deaf in one ear so couldn't hear anything where he was sitting. Luckily, he downed a bottle of Cava in about 20 minutes and that seemed to sort him out....well in one way anyway...
I seemed to be at the more raucous end of the table. I met a bloke called Damon that I hadn't come across before. I thought we were having a great time so I don't know what he meant when he caught Stu after two hours of my company and said, "Now I understand why you look so haggard mate". Funny.
I was in my comfort zone as the conversation was on to anal sex by 7.30pm. These brummies always have to take it a step further though and soon we had moved onto sex with goats. Well, we hadn't moved on to having sex with goats we had moved on to talking about having sex with goats. I 'kid' you not. The dilemma being discussed by the table was whether if a bloke was to shag a goat, did it make it more acceptable if the goat was female. I thought it probably didn't matter so much. Baaaaa-ha-ha.
The waiters tried to throw us out at 10pm. It didn't go so well for them. Apparently, there were some guys outside that needed out table and were going crazy. One of our party decided to show them that us going crazy inside was potentially more lethal. We left shortly afterwards through the kitchen door.
Back to the pub next door to our hotel but that would be far too convenient to stay in, wouldn't it? We therefore trekked half an hour in stillettos (some of us, I'm not naming names), to the hideousness of the Dog and Pheasant in Bromsgrove. I thought I was pretty drunk until I got in there. Jeesus. My stripy trousers were apparently too much for the people of Bromsgrove and I seemed to be nicknamed 'Beetlejuice' within minutes. Oh well, I've been called worse. We weren't possibly going to go straight home having walked the walk of death to get there so on of our party decided to solve it in a tried and tested Brummie night out fashion: "Drugs? Drugs? Anyone, got any drugs?" We settled for vodka and a quick shuffle around the dancefloor then headed back to the smelly Travelodge.
Having babysat overnight for us, my parents told us to meet them in the pub for a roast (LOVE THEM). They didn't get much conversation out of us if I'm honest but delighted in telling us how good the boys had been. At that point, Sebi threw a tantrum of unbelievable proportions and nearly cleared the pub in five minutes. My Mother's response; "Well, he is obviously very bright." Amazing.
We love you Danny-Boy. Thank you for a top, top night. xxxx
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