Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Through The BlogHole

David Frost: Hello, good evening, and welcome to a new series of Through The BlogHole, in which we take a look at some random bloggers and their homes. First, let's meet tonight's panel. Would you please welcome a man perhaps more famous for his beard than his cooking. Nicknamed The Cunt, its Anthony Worrall-Thompson!

Applause. Sort of.

Worrall-Thompson: Good evening Sir. David, it's great to be here.

Frost: Is it?

Worrall-Thompson: Not really.

Frost: No, its not. Anyway, our second panellist is no stranger to this show, nor to whores and a big pile of coke. One could say he's a hard-drinking wildman. It's James Nesbitt!

Nesbitt: Hello!

Frost: And finally, one of our favourite actors. Perhaps best known for playing a cantankerous pensioner growing old disgracefully, I prefer to think of him as a self-deluded luvvie who believes the public like him rather than Victor Meldrew, his comedy character. I don't believe it! It's Richard Wilson!

Wilson: I don't believe it! (Applause)

Frost: So, here's Loyd Grossman with our first blogger's house. And remember the clues are there, as we go... through the bloghole.

Grossman: Hello, on the surface this ordinary house in Melksham, Wilkshire could be the dwelling of just about anyone. A judge, a paedophile, Jimmy Tarbuck? Anyone at all. But something more sinister lurks behind these three walls, a blog. Not just any blog, lets take a further look.
In the hall a guest is greeted by as mountain of empty Stella cans. It seems we are clearly in the home of a hard-drinking wildman. As if that wasn't enough, there is clear evidence that some extremely random drinks have been consumed right here in the lobby. If I had to hazard a guess I would say that some very studenty activities had taken place here. Now Melksham is world-renowned for being very boring indeed, and these hard-drinking students have clearly had to take matters in their own hands to put it on the blogging map. It is obvious that this character is very random. Meh.
Now, unfortunately this Melksham retreat is a long way from one of my favourite museums, London Transport Museum. This person has to find entertainment in other formats. It is not surprising that this person has an extensive CD collection. Oh my word it is full of shit. Rammstein! Fuck yeah! In rehearsals earlier I had to give the cameraman the high-fives after seeing this person's enormous Ministry of Sound Collection. He rules.
My experience as Chairman of the Blue Plaques Association also made me eagle-eyed enough to spot over on the random dresser this gaudy gold chain. This person clearly has style and grace. The closet also contains a Quiksilver T-Shirt, Donnay clothes and a copy of Naomi Klein's tedious 'No Logo'. This person is clearly easily led by a majority.
It is here in the study, at this very computer, that this person comes alive. This is where the celebrated blog takes shape, and more besides. I draw your attention to this wallchart, which reads like the Koran of Minesweeper scores. I feel half a man looking at them. This person clearly has a talent.
Finally I'm here in the games room. Now you might have been expected a snooker table or a dartboard but we are dealing with a person who has clearly travelled the world, as this rather exotic table demonstrates. It's called Beer Pong, and apparently was discovered whilst trekking through Florida. Fuck yeah! Perhaps this clue will give it away, a hard-drinking wildman with a unquenchable passion for sport. Indeed, these beautiful long-exposure photographs from Martin Keown's testimonial demonstrate that this person is obviously a lifelong Arsenal fan.
Let's look at the evidence. The random drinks, the gold chain, the eclectic music collection, the Minesweeper scores, the championship sized beer pong table, blurry photos of Martin Keown. Who blogs on a site like this? David, its over to you.

Frost: And now, for our home and studio audience, but not for our panel, here's who's blog it is!

Silhouette of Honestly I'm Sober's Robert Hamilton.

Frost: Anthony, you start.

Worrall-Thompson: Well its a bloke isn't it? (Applause) I like him, he's clearly a hard-drinking wildman. Did you see how random those drinks were? Wow! Fuck yeah! Is he a big Arsenal fan? (Applause)

Nesbitt: Does he do a really famous blog? (Applause) Maybe the sort of thing that would be featured in a Sunday newspaper? (Applause)

Wilson: I don't believe it! (Applause)

Worrall-Thompson: So lets recap. A hard-drinking wildman, beer pong fan, famous blogger.

Nesbitt: Well I also noticed the DVD collection which Loyd forgot to pick up on.

Frost: He was running late for London Transport Museum, one of his favourite museums I believe.

Nesbitt: I noticed he had There's Something About Mary and Jackass- The Movie, two of my favourite films so they are.

Wilson: I don't believe it! (Applause)

Nesbitt: So we're obviously not dealing with an eejit, its gonna be someone who'd be a fearsome opponent in a pub quiz? (Applause)

Frost: I think you're getting warmer.

Worrall-Thompson: Is it Robert Hamilton?

Frost: Yes it is. Robert Hamilton, would you come through the bloghole?!

Robert Hamilton enters.

Frost: Rob, I think the random drinks really gave it away back there!

Hamilton: Well David, Honestly I'm Sober! (Applause)

Frost: Quite. Well there really is no way of following that. You're clearly such a big name we're in danger of upsetting the balance of the whole show. So, all that remains is for me to give you this random gift, a souvenir of the show.

Hamilton: Meh.

Frost: Join us after the break when Loyd will have returned from London Transport Museum to snoop round another random blog.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

The 100 Greatest Blog Monents - #74

Graham Norton: Welcome back to The 100 Greatest Blog Moments countdown, in association with Always Ultra. Our next entry is the first appearance of the night for The Observer’s Robert Hamilton. The question is though, which classic moment is it? Be afraid, be very afraid…

OK, so who's expecting a replay of
the first time?

Afraid not, nothing of that sort happened. If you're only reading this post for that sort of material, sorry to disappoint you. For those who recognise that I still only possess "all the authentic fumbling uncertainties" (taken from the Observer article about me and this blog) of an innocent, wide-eyed little boy, this post is more aimed at you. Well, not aimed at you, but at least in your range of interests. So yeah, we didn't go any further than kissing. Honestly. It was great kissing, very passionate, but no further. Which is good. As you all know, I go very slowly, almost continental-drift-like, when initiating anything of this kind, and this just about fits in with my usual style.

She didn't seem to mind either. At least as far as I know. There were no complaints, at any rate.

Vernon Kay (TV Presenter): Yes, I remember this very clearly. Me and Tess (TV’s Tess Daly, his wife) settled down for the evening with a bottle of wine and the latest Honestly, I’m Sober when we saw this gem. Rob, as I like to call him, being a friendly Bolton-bred arse candle, describes kissing this girl. Julian isn’t it? It’s one of those moments that everyone can remember what they were doing when they heard.

Faye Tozer (Steps): A lovely moment, but for me the artistic presentation deserves the highest compliments. Robert tells us about it with the world-weary charm of the big-gun raconteurs. In my eyes he really is the new Ustinov.

Peter Ustinov (Big-gun Raconteur): I’ve heard people call young Hamilton the new Ustinov, but he’s got more in the locker than me and my world-weary charm. His timing is up there with Bob Monkhouse, Ernie Els or Dave Seconda, who made watches. Good watches. It was a magical piece of bloggery, I’m sure the awards will come flying in.

Graham Norton (Again): Not everyone shared Peter Ustinov’s opinion however, feeling Rob sold himself short in the pursuit of a sexy time.

Terry Christian (From Manchester With Glove): Well there was always that kid at school wasn’t there who did a blog and went on about girls and had some other guy analyse it in a specially set-up piss take blog of his own wasn’t there? For me Hamilton should’ve just shagged her, it seemed like it was a dead cert if he wanted to double his tally if you know what I mean?

Michael Winner (Esure Direct): If I was Hamilton I would’ve taken her out to dinner. I’m starving.

Graham Norton (Entertainer): Perhaps the final word on this classic piece of blogmongering should be reserved for somebody who’s been there and seen it all.

Dustin Diamond (TV’s Samuel ‘Screech’ Powers): It was only after Saved By The Bell – The Even Newer Class finished its fourteenth season that I found my life was empty and unfulfilling. I’d graced bedroom walls across the US of States for over two decades and to have that snatched away at the tender age of 42 was a bitter pill to hurdle. I turned to I’d heard about it in the legendary Viper Room, apparently other stars whose careers had spited their faces had trodden the same bush. Rob Lowe, Donny Wahlberg from NKOTB, the ginger one from Sex and the City, they’re all up to their eyeballs in blog juice. It takes over your life, before you know it you’re unable to make a decision because you’re thinking of how the consequences would read on your net page. I really do think Hamilton would have fucked this girl hard had he not been blogged off his face.

Graham Norton (Blog Virgin): May that be a lesson to any kids out there interested in blogging. Films such as Blog Day Afternoon and The BlogFather may glamorise this terrible addiction, but there are much deeper issues to consider, and possibly analyse in a counter-blog. Call 0800 50 50 50 for free advice, calls are charged at £1 per minute. After the break, we learn all about the Kruger Cigarette from a certain Christopher Hindle. Stay tuned…

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Beer Pong - Live and Uninterrupted!!!

Good evening, I'm 'Big' Ron Atkinson, esteemed football pundit and occasional racist. I also consider myself to be 'bling'. Just like P.Diddy. Or Terry 'El Tel' Venables. I'm here to scrutinise, analyse, and basically tear to pieces the latest installment of Robert Hamilton's 'Honestly, I'm Sober!', as seen in top newspaper The Guardian, which used to publish my riveting 'Chalkboard' section every Monday, until some idiot left the microphone running and I lost that privelige. Anyway, enough about me, let's see the action.

Well, Friday Was Pretty Crap But thankfully Saturday was fucking brilliant. Friday was almost a complete washout, saved only by going round to a friend's place to watch a DVD with a load of other people. I hadn't seen Wedding Singer in a while, so it made me laugh. You can't ask for much more from a comedy, I guess. I spent most of Saturday afternoon trying to watch Premiership football on my PC, via ESPN in China, but without success. Unless you count jerky movement every 30 seconds as success. I don't. Most of my usual group of friends were in Mannheim, the next big town from Heidelberg, doing a bit of shopping and mooching around, but I couldn't be arsed with that. I've had enough being dragged round shops by my Mum over the years, so doing the same with 10 girls wasn't for me. Although I did hear that the two guys eventually just said "fuck it" and went into one of the Sex Cinemas. Fair play. They were heading back to Heidelberg when I texted them to see what was planned for the evening. They were all up for going to Bar Drei (see previously for the legend of Bar Drei) at about 9.30, and just drinking the night away. As much as I love Bar Drei, I always see it as an end of night place to go, when all of the other bars in town have closed. I wouldn't like to go there sober and spend all night there! Becks then rang me, since it was easier than texting. I said that I wasn't hugely up for going to Bar Drei, but if we were all doing that, then I'd probably meet them there. I still wasn't hugely enthusiastic, so I texted GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB (I really need to come up with a better name) to see what she was up to that evening. She replied saying that she was having dinner with a few people at her place, having a few drinks and then going into town. She also invited me to come along, an offer which I readily snapped up. Wicked, drinking and getting to see GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, all in one night. As soon as I'd sent my reply to her, I got another text from Becks, saying that they were coming to mine to play a few drinking games and to then head on to Bar Drei a bit later. I had to tell them sorry, but I've made other plans now, I'll probably see you in Bar Drei later on. I don't think they took that too brilliantly. Well, you shouldn't invite yourself round mine like that. That happens more often than I care for, to be honest. I have a load of DVDs here, as well as a few films on my own burnt DVDs, so everyone tends to invite themselves round to mine when we are at a loss for things to do. The first few times, I didn't mind because generally I initiated the idea. Recently, however, it's been a case of "Let's go to Rob's" whenever we can't think of something to do / are too hungover to drink. I'm too nice to refuse, and I do enjoy the company of my friends, but it'd be nice from time to time to ask, rather than tell me that they're coming over. Mini-rant over. So anyway, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the local shop and headed up to GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB's place. I timed it just right, as they were serving up dinner when I walked in the door. It's a good feeling to be handed a plateful of food as soon as you've taken off your coat. It was tasty too. The food, not the coat. The wine was cracked open, even without a corkscrew. We'll ignore the splashes on the carpet for now (not my fault!) and skip straight to the drinking games. I taught everyone Pyramid, which is my favourite game ever. A description? Well, if I must.
To play Pyramid, you need a pack of cards, lots of booze and a group of willing victims participants. Lay out a triangle of cards on the floor / table, with 5 on the bottom row, 4 on the next and so on. It should look like the arrangement of ten-pin bowling pins, except with 15. You now have 5 rows of cards, with one less on each as you approach the peak of the triangle. Here is where a little bit of maths comes in. Not too much though, since you will be getting pissed. Each card on the bottom row (the one with 5 cards) is worth 2 seconds. The next row has cards worth 4 seconds each, the third 6 seconds, the fourth 8 seconds, and the single card at the peak is worth 10 seconds. The seconds refer to drinking time. You then deal the rest of the cards out to everyone playing. Everyone is allowed to look at their own cards and keep them in their hands. The dealer (or whomever) turns over the bottom-right card (from the row worth 2 seconds each), and counts down from 5 to 1, before saying "OUT". In those 5 seconds, anyone who has a card of the same value (a 2, a Jack, a 9, whatever) can lay their card on top of the card that has been turned over. At the same time, they say "Fuck [Insert Name of Another Player Here]". What this means is that the named person has to drink. However, the countdown goes back to 5 seconds, in which someone else can put another card of the same value down and say "Fuck [Someone Else]". If they're feeling mean, they can say the same person, or they can nominate whomever they want. The nominated person can also defend themselves in this manner. It's great fun to have someone say "Fuck Rob" and then to lay a card whilst saying "No, Fuck YOU [Name]". Grudges also build up quickly, which gets important as you move up the triangle. When the countdown reaches OUT, the last person to be "Fucked" must drink. The time they have to drink for is equal to the value of the card turned over, times the number of cards there. This sounds complicated, but isn't. For instance, if the first card is turned over on the bottom row (worth 2 seconds, remember), and 2 people lay the same value card on top, the last nominated person has to drink for 6 seconds. 2 + 2 + 2 = 6. Thus, when you get to the upper echelons of the triangle, the time adds up dramatically. The final card, being worth 10 seconds by itself, could result in someone having to drink for 40 seconds if the other 3 cards of that value are placed on top of it. I know because I have done it. I got through about 3 bottles of beer doing that damn 40 seconds.Phew, that turned into a bit of a lengthy aside, but it was worth it. This game needs to be spread around the world, because it's fucking brilliant. You get so drunk playing it, and it's hilarious fun. As I said, you remember who stitched you up in the last game you played and then fuck them over in another game. Great fun! Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand, we played a couple of games of Pyramid, which ended up in all of us having to do some fairly lenghty stints of drinking. Sorry, I've said all of us, but haven't mentioned how many were there. There was myself, GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, Helen, Rachel (all English, and whom I already knew), Pete, David (American guys, new to me) and Martin (an Hungarian guy who was great fun. Turns out he's in a number of my law classes, as it happens). We polished off numerous bottles of wine, including their attempts at Pink Stuff. I think I've mentioned what Pink Stuff is here, but I'll just refresh your memory. It's strawberry fizzy wine, only 99c per bottle, and it gets you very drunk. We call it Pink Stuff, GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, Helen and Rachel call it Giggle Juice. They'd also found other flavours, which I ended up having to try. It'd have been rude not to. So take note and learn that the Pineapple flavour is disgusting (especially after 24 seconds of it), whereas the Raspberry / Blackcurrant one is rather tasty, perhaps even preferable to the strawberry stuff. But give me a beer any day. The girls were starting to worry about getting ready to go out, what with it already getting late and them being quite tipsy. Helen and Rachel disappeared back to their rooms to get changed, but as we were in GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB's room, she had to take her stuff into her bathroom. She was really uncertain what to wear, and kept asking us if she should wear a skirt or not. She's really tall, and looks great in a skirt, so we all (including the girls) told her that she should. As she was on her way out of the room, she said something like we should tell her if she looked terrible. I called out after her that of course I would, to which she came back to the doorway. The other guys were talking about something else, so she was able to ask me directly what I meant. I told her that I'd be completely honest, and that if I thought she didn't look right, I'd let her know. In a nice way. Correspondingly, if she looked fantastic, I'd tell her that too. I don't know if I'm reading into her facial expression something that wasn't there, but I swear she appreciated that sentiment a lot. Her face just seemed to light up. It could have been wine flushes though, I guess. When she came back into the room, she did indeed look amazing, which I made a point of telling her. At least I'm slowly making my way into her good books. Perhaps a little too slowly, but that's always been my style / shortcoming. As you all know, I'm thoroughly inept around women, and there's been no miraculous change since that night at the end of August. Long-term readers know what I'm on about. We were finally all ready to go into town, so we grabbed our coats, the last bottle of wine (white, eurrgh) and walked to the bus stop. I'm pretty sure I was arm-in-arm with GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB for that little walk, but that's meaningless. Isn't it? Damn it, now I'm putting thoughts into my head. Dangerous, over-confident type thoughts. Out, out damned spot. At the other end, we wandered up to the door to Billy Blue's, which the girls had told me is "really good" (put a Leeds accent on to get the full effect) on a weekend. We were still all swigging from the bottle of wine, as well as being loud and English, due to the drunkenness, which I think was the reasoning the bouncer had for not letting us in. The bastard. He said something in German, then repeated it as "Regulars only on the weekend" in English. I said "Honestly?" back to him in German, and he just repeated it back to me: "Honestly." I was definitely up for having words, such as asking how exactly you become 'regular' if you can't get in in the first place, but I bit my tongue. There were ladies present, after all, and I didn't want to make a tit of myself. Instead, we went over the road to a bar called Gecko's (after I disposed of the wine bottle round the corner. It's still there, I checked as I walked past last night) for a quick drink and to make a decision as to where to go. GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB and I both had Mai Tais, which are great little cocktails, if a little strong. We were chatting for ages, although I'll be damned if I can remember what about. The alcohol from playing Pyramid was starting to kick in. We then headed up to a place called Amadeus, which is the usual Tuesday-night hangout for all of the European students here. It's not a bad little bar, but it wouldn't have been my first choice for a Saturday night out. Nevertheless, I was 100% behind the decision to go. Ulterior motives? Moi? Oh do be quiet at the back. There were a load of other people waiting for us at Amadeus, again not from the usual crowd that I hang out with. I knew them all, but they weren't part of my everyday group of friends. Sometimes I feel like a bridge of some sort between my group of friends and a few other people. They're perfectly nice and civil to everyone (well, except maybe The Features. I might explain that one some time, but probably not. Aren't I the tease?), but they don't seem to make a huge amount of effort to be friendly with them. I do. I like making new friends, I like meeting friends of friends and so on and so forth. I can't be doing with confining myself to one group of people all of the time. I was the same back in Melksham, a situation I have explained before. I have my mates, my drinking and footballing guy friends, and then I have my friends, the people I'm really close to. I'm the only one that ever crossed that divide, and it's almost the same here. I love my group of friends to bits, but I also have other friends that I want to do things with. And no, not like that, those of you who are sniggering in a dirty way. I don't remember drinking a huge amount at Amadeus, because I was dancing quite a lot. Yes, with GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB, but also with other people. I seem to remember being handed a tequila shot to do, which I did, but also almost promptly threw up. I fucking hate tequila, and I've no idea why I did it that night. Probably because I didn't have to pay for it, and was just handed it off of a tray. Does me. I've no idea what time we left Amadeus, or how we got back to Bar Drei. I'm assuming either a taxi or bus, because we couldn't have walked that far. Definitely not. To be honest, I don't even know who went to Bar Drei with me. I bumped into Helen and Rachel on Sunday night, and they told me that they hadn't gone. I think it might just have been me and GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB. Can't be sure though. They told me that I'd walked her home, but I have no idea what time that could have been. I reckon it was sometime around 5, but it may have been half an hour either way. I distinctly remember only getting a goodnight kiss on the cheek, no more, but I truly cannot dredge up from the old archives what we spoke about in Bar Drei. For an hour. Hmm. All in all, I had a fucking great night. I was out with a load of wicked people, went to a couple of great bars, had a dance, had a load of drinks, and possibly put some groundwork in with GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB. You never know when that might pay off. Christ, I'm worrying that I'm beginning to sound obsessed. I think it's just because all of my friends keep asking what's going on with me and her, and if I really like her or not. I keep denying everything, but then at least one of them reads this blog, which kinda screws up my keeping shtum. Oh well, this kind of thing has always happened with my blog. Meh.

Rob, you really need some no-nonsence man-management young man! Give it the full gun, you've got to attack to the sound of the trumpets! This girl, who let's face it has a ridiculous name, obviously lacks that extra yard. Ever since your bar work in the summer you've had those extra gears in the locker. Basically, she's waiting for you to come on and do your trick. It's a crowd scene out there, beer pong always is, but the only way you're going to get the better of what is clearly a pressure cooker atmosphere is to get out your top gun and blow them off with a maxi performance.

Spotter's badge for staking her out early doors, but you've got to get in the mixer and give her the treatment. The kitchen sink. The executive gun. I've been chosen to analyse this particular blog cos I've been there, on the second post, in a similar situation. Boy did I give it the gun. You're attacking in installments right now my son, and I'm afraid you must have been watching cartoons if you think you can score from there. you can't. You've got to be the fox in the box. The Jeffers. The Van Nilstelhorse. The Shearer. The Ricketts. You can add your name to the list with the confidence of those luminaries.

Just work out your role. You're no amusement arcade, you're not a street dribbler. But I'd put my mortgage on you scoring if you put your mind to it. Just give it the full gun. Next time you see this bint you should lay down a few reducers early doors, its the only way to separate the men from the chaff.

Take my advice.

Next time, I might not be here. Analysis might be from a lesser mortal, like Andy Townsend.

I look forward to your progress.

Big Ron.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

Welcome To The New Season!

Gary Lineker: Good evening, glad you can join us for the 2004-5 blog season. Coming up tonight we have extended highlights of 'Honestly, I'm Sober', and I can assure you it was a cracker. Alan Hansen is joined on the sofa of knowledge by Mick McCarthy and Peter Schmeichel, who's promised to keep his druggy hands to himself for the evening.

Peter Schmeichel: Yes Gary, I'd rather let the action do the talking.

Mick McCarthy: Ay, there's not much you can say about such a hard-drinking wildman.

Gary Lineker: Indeed. Well here's the action, with John Motson.

Yes, more drinking tales. The end of last week was a little over the top, if truth be told, but I'm telling myself that it was allowed because now we've started classes we can't go out drinking all the time, or to that extent. He says, going out tonight. Dammit. Last Saturday then. What a day. It started by trying to find somewhere to watch the Arsenal game. I'd been informed by the good people at the Arseblog Forums that it was on Irish TV, and I also knew that the two Irish pubs here in Heidelberg definitely had that channel. Quids in, my first Arsenal game for a good few weeks. I was having withdrawal symptoms, I swear. Unfortunately, the first one I went to with Jamie, The Dubliner, had an utterly inept barmaid, who didn't know her ass from her face. She was German, and I explained (in German!) that it was on an Irish channel, and that they had the Irish channel in the pub, but she didn't want to know. Wait till the boss gets back at 5, she said. Fucking hell, the game will be almost over by then! After a bit of ummming and ahhhhing, we headed over the bridge to O'Reilly's, altogether a better pub. We got there, and it didn't look promising. There was no football to be seen on the big screens, just adverts or something, so I asked Johnny (the barman. Yes, I'm on first name terms with the barman in less than 6 weeks) if they had the Arsenal game on. Johnny is the most intense, rude and crazy person I've ever met. He's brilliant with it, and will quite happily swear at you for your entire stay in the pub. Fucking good laugh, to be honest. His response when I asked about the Arsenal game? "How many fookin' screens do yer wan' it ahn?" It turned out that they did indeed have it on the big screen, much to my relief. The worst thing about watching the Arsenal game is that I had a beer. I'd said to Jamie whilst in The Dubliner that I was planning to go without alcohol for as long as possible in the foreseeable future, what with uni starting and everything. I really meant it too: my alcohol consumption level has been startling since I arrived in Germany, and Thursday night's amount was just stupid. I need a break from it. Again, he says, going out tonight. My giving up lasted all of 45 minutes. We got into O'Reilly's, found a table to watch the game, and then as soon as the waitress came over to take our order, I found my lips instinctively ordering a beer for me. Dammit, I didn't even fucking think about it! I headed home after the game, and was planning a quiet night in when I was informed of Beer Pong at a friend's place. Bang goes my quiet night in. I'm such a sucker for beer pressure, I need to learn to say no to alcohol. I didn't take any beers with me, because I knew I still had a few there from last time, and in any case I wasn't up for drinking too much. For some reason, though, one of my friends kept topping up my glass with Pink Stuff. Pink Stuff is legendary: it's strawberry sparkling wine, is only 99cents per bottle (per bottle!), and gets you very drunk very quickly, because it's so easy to drink. After 3 or 4 tumblers of the Stuff, I was up for Beer Pong, or more accurately, Pink Stuff Pong. I can't be arsed to describe Beer Pong here, but it's a great game. Google for it, you'll soon see what all the fuss is about. I'd never played it before I moved out here, but I've been introduced to it by a few American friends. Suffice to say it fucking rocks. I played two games in a row, and was on my way to being drunk by the end of the second. It was at this point that someone suggested going to Bar Drei. Damn them, whomever it was. I blame them entirely for my drunkenness later that evening. We hopped on a bus, and as we arrived I thought to text a friend who lived nearby, sort of in the hope that she'd also bring along the girl that I might possibly be slightly interested in thinking about getting to know a bit better. To my surprise, both texted me back! I could be getting somewhere, possibly. Maybe. I spent most of the evening (well, between drinks) chatting to the girl that I might possibly be slightly interested in thinking about getting to know a bit better (she needs a catchier name for here. Does GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB work?), which was great. We were sat at the bar, and were also talking with this random German guy for a bit. I think (memory is iffy) that he had studied in Wales for a little while, so he tried to speak to us in English, whereas we answered in German. I like conversations like that, because I don't speak German as often as I should do most days. No idea what we spoke about, but I remember being a nice guy. I was a bit pissed though, so probably didn't make the best impression. I remember a load of my friends leaving sometime around 3, but I was still going strong, still chatting to GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB (yes, I'll work on a suitable name), and still drinking. As it happened, they'd gone up to my mate's kitchen for a round of sandwiches, just like we did on Thursday night. By about 4 I decided that I was hungry, so I rang Jamie to get him to come back down to the bar, just to give me the opportunity to talk him into making me the rest of us one too. He was willing, but had no bread. Luckily, GTIMPBSIITAGTKABB had bread, so I went back to her building to grab it. What does the next paragraph contain? Can you feel the tension?! A trip just to fetch some bread in fact turned into half an hour of us two on her bed. Just looking at photos though! Oh, how I toy with your expectations. Nope, nothing happened, but it was cool to just sit around and listen to her talk about all of her friends back home. I think I mentioned that she comes from a town back in Wiltshire which is only 10 miles from mine, which is quite spooky. So no, nothing happened. Could something happen? I don't know, I'll have to get back to you on that one. We'll see. Would I like something to happen? Of course I would, she's a great girl, really nice, and stunning to boot. I'd be a fool not to want it to happen, but yet again my shyness in this kind of situation lets me down. I'm still inept around girls I like. For shame. Anyway, after half an hour or so of chatting, we headed back into Bar Drei, met a slightly forlorn and abandoned Jamie, and went up to his place for sandwiches. The man is a legend, this time he made me a bacon and egg buttie, with the egg cooked to perfection. You know the kind, when the yolk bursts as you take the first bite, and then runs all over your fingers. Yes, a great way to impress a girl you like, I know. We stayed up there for a little while, chatting with a few Italian guys about this and that. I already knew one of them from football, but he quickly passed out on the table. That left us talking about religion and philosophy, the typical pissed topics, but in German. Theology in German whilst pissed? Don't mind if I do. Just a typical, run of the mill Saturday night then. The walk home did nothing to sober me up, and I slept it until gone 4 on Sunday afternoon. No hangover, but then you'd expect that with waking up that late. In my defence, that was still only just over 10 hours sleep. I'm not lazy, I swear. And so ends yet another post about drinking. Christ, those 3 days were completely and utterly dictated by alcohol. I've got out of that cycle now, thank fuck, but seeing as my 4-day weekend (more on my timetable and uni stuff in another post) has just begun, and Beer Pong is once more afoot, it could all go downhill again. Very quickly. Very quickly indeed.

Gary Lineker: Well Alan, a patchy start to the season all in all?

Alan Hansen: Unbelievable! He's there, in space, all he really needs to do is keep his head and its in the net. It's just inexperience. He's gonna really struggle out there this season unless he learns. And fast.

Mick McCarthy: He's just lacking that yard of pace where it matters Gary, if you get as far as the bed then you've really got to hit the target.

Peter Schmeichel: Well I'd question his commitment, the beer pong and the bacon and egg butties are not the things that win championships. I do fear he'll always fall short.

Mick McCarthy: No no no! We need these players in the modern game, the Gazzas, the Mersons, the Mabbutts. The fans always love a hard-drinking wildman, and they've got one here.

Alan Hansen: All I'm saying is I think the 'Asexual Worm' has turned. He needs his A-Game as soon as possible.

Peter Schmeichel: I think his off-the-field commitments are stifling his creativity. He didn't seem likely at any point to unlock the defence with his little trick. You know, he's on first name terms with the barman after just six weeks...

Mick McCarthy: Well he is a hard-drinking wildman...

Peter Schmeichel: He sure is Mick, but he planned to go without alcohol and just couldn't do it. I fear another career will be unfulfilled.

Alan Hansen: It's all about what he does now Gary.

Gary Lineker: Yes.

Alan Hansen: He can get fit, cut out the beer pong, and give it the full gun on the pitch, or he'll just pack it in.

Gary Lineker: Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Alan Hansen: What? That Rob looks like James Van Der Beek, TV's Dawson? Particularly around the eyes?

Gary Lineker: No, not that. Although now you say it I guess he does. No I fear he'll fall into a life of kebabs, battered housewives and dogging.

Alan Hansen: Well it's a big season for him one way or the other.

Gary Lineker: Indeed. We'll have more from 'Honestly, I'm Sober!' next time, but now here's something more interesting.