Here is this weeks Assinder Report from our resident whino, Mr James Assinder, the only whino I would ask to write a weekly whinge.
As DiCaprio
almost said ‘that was by far the best I’ve ever been on’
The 26th
of June, 2003, mark it in your diary my friends because in the future it will
be mentioned in the same breath as the Gettysburg address and the storming
of the Bastille, it is a piece of history that will not be forgotten. If Robert
Duvall’s line in Apocalypse Now had been ‘I love the smell of cheap house
whisky in the morning, it smells like victory’ it would have described exactly
how I felt when I woke up at 7:45 on the 27th of June 2003. Quiff, ‘the editor
from hell’, has asked me to focus this week’s Assinder report on that one
night and to capture the magic for posterity’s sake.
The evening had been planned a few weeks in advance as a night out to celebrate
the end of the torrential stream of A-Level examinations. Quiff had asked
me to call him after his final exam and I called about 12:15. He was at the
legitimate establishment of one Gareth Price where apparently games involving
monkeys were in progress. We arranged to meet at 6:30 at ‘The Menai’. It is
at that time that the nervousness began as the butterflies in my stomach had
forgotten to take their Ritalin.
A shower, a shave and a small amount of gel in the hair and I was good to
go. In my opinion, I looked casual yet slick in my red Animal T-Shirt over
my long-sleeved black T-Shirt combined with a pair of black jeans. I was dropped
in the Safeway car park and I proceeded to walk up the wonderful yellow brick
road of a street that is the road leading up to ‘The Menai’. Little did I
know that the dodgy Second Hand shop was the last sane thing that I would
see on that particular evening. Sitting outside ‘The Menai’ on a grotty old
picnic table were my drinking companions for the evening. Quiff, your hero,
was feeling the power of his black Pierre Cardin shirt. Price looked suave
in a black short-sleeved shirt decorated with flames. Stephen Russell was
looking more relaxed than the last time I had seen him where he was stressing
about exams. Crim was blonde.
I had slipped behind and the evening was only 10 minutes old, everyone had
already had one drink. I waved ‘see you later’ to chicken fried rice Crim
and pizza Price and went to purchase a double whisky. No ID was required;
I was pleasantly surprised. I was then baffled by Stephen’s ramblings about
the Land of Oz, neither the one with munchkins nor the one that always beats
us at sporting events.
Now, a pub ‘crawl’ wouldn’t have been a crawl if we had remained in the same
pub all evening and therefore when we had reacquainted ourselves with the
enigmas that are Crim and Price, we proceeded to walk to the ‘Pheasant and
Firkin’ (The Glan). In said public house, we met the rest of the people who
were to play roles, both small and large in a very bizarre night. I am going
to name-drop a few of them now because I am of the opinion that they may thank
me with cash donations which will make up for the fact that I get no salary
for this debacle. Matthew Thomas (the man, the legend, he could drink any
of you under the proverbial table). Richie D Lomax (a fellow whisky fanatic).
Jason Burton (now looking like he wouldn’t fit into Megadeth’s entourage).
Gemma (didn’t catch her last name but she goes to Cardiff Uni). Martin Bristow
(regulars to the Assinder report will know this name). Noah Cameron (on a
mission to drink Bangor dry). Arwel Bullock (slightly high). Jonathan Haynes
(you thought he was dead but he isn’t). Loz and his Friars’ friends (I know
that they are supposed to be my mortal enemies and I should hate them in the
same way that Churchill wasn’t fond of Hitler but they are reasonably nice
blokes). Right, if I get a tenner for each of those, I’ll be getting extremely
close to getting the trumpet that I always wanted.
A visit to Wetherspoon’s was required or ‘Ye Olde Black Bulle Inne’ as anyone
over the age of 50 would probably prefer to call it. While Quiff went for
his 7th bathroom break of the evening, I attempted to purchase a Budweiser.
I was asked for an ID, which I couldn’t provide so instead I got Noah to purchase
it for me. The 10-12 of us took up about 3 tables on the patio outside the
inn and we mulled over certain random topics which are frankly too dull to
mention. Crim and I managed to convince Martin Bristow (despite the fact that
he was driving and not drinking) that the value for ‘pi’ in this country is
different to the value of ‘American pi’. I believe we told him that there
was a 0.4 difference and with that, he was satisfied. Wetherspoon’s is not
the kind of place where anyone in their right mind would wish to stay for
a particularly long time, especially considering the fact that you are not
allowed to swear there. ‘The Fat Cat’ was the next port of call for Me, Quiff,
Price and Crim and there was a real ‘Reservoir Dogs’ moment as we walked down
the road. In ‘The Fat Cat’ we encountered Richie D, Matty and Gemma. Crim
began to read a book by Robert Mitchum called ‘Tinsel’ and Richie and Gemma
decided that this point in the evening called for dessert. Now, I may be going
back to my days of complaining but if the waitress at ‘The Fat Cat’ was paid
to be the stupidest person in the world then she would be shooting up the
rankings of the Times rich list. Richie ordered chocolate fudge cake and Gemma
ordered some form of the mythical ‘Ben & Jerry’s’ ice cream. The waitress
then proceeded to ask Richie if he wanted both of the desserts on the same
plate. How many people do you know that can afford, let alone eat, a dessert
costing £8 all on their own? It’s bloody ridiculous. The dessert arrived about
a half an hour later and we sat in the sun chilling out drinking Budweiser
talking over the lives that we were living at the moment. Many topics were
discussed including drunken exploits and what the Trainspotter’s weekly couple
of the month Michael ‘The Fonz’ and Rebecca got up to in Phil Lewis’ cupboard
with Henry the hoover (ask Quiff for more details if you dare). After a brief
one-on-one game of ‘Truth or Dare’ between me and Quiff in which it was revealed
that if Quiff could have anything off the menu, he would have some ice cream,
we went along to the Bangor branch of Trinity College, Dublin, O’Sheas.
It was Quiff’s round and those of you who know Quiff will know how rare that
is. Never has the term ‘short arms and deep pockets’ been more appropriate
but during the week, Quiff had sold his body and had made £60. We had beers
and played pool. Quiff will never forgive me if I do not mention what a pool
ace he is, out of the 5 games that we played, Quiff was on the winning team
5 times. It is disgusting how lucky that kid is. After I had bought a round,
Price had bought a round and Quiff had had his 19th bathroom break, we headed
up to the Belle Vue. In the Belle Vue we met up with everybody else including
an extremely hammered Noah who’s pupils were dilated and arm was glued round
Gemma’s shoulders. We hung out for the next half an hour until closing time
and we supported Matty in his successful attempt at beating a completely smashed
old woman at pool. We clearly made her day by allowing her to believe that
she was still down with the kids. She invited Matty back to hers but he politely
declined, he probably still hasn’t recovered from that mental scar. We all
left the Belle Vue drunk and jubilant, friends that were finally carefree
and determined to enjoy it. Thus endeth the peculiar night. If you haven’t
laughed for the past 5 minutes whilst reading this, remember it isn’t my writing
ability, it is merely the fact that you had to have been there. Please e-mail
with your recollections of the night, fill in the blanks in my memory.
Addendum
In the interest
of not drifting onto a third page, I must admit that I left a small fact out
of my report. I will apologise now as my ethics shouldn’t include withholding
information from you good people. The incident occurred after I had just been
picked up from the Safeway car park. Like a lion running after a prime gazelle,
the slightly drunk Noah began to chase after my parents’ car. At first, my
parents took this as a mildly amusing joke up until the point where Noah ran
in front of the car blocking the right turn into upper Bangor. Then the air
was turn a light shade of blue with insults such as ‘prat’ and ‘idiot boy’
got thrown around. Eventually, Noah was dragged out of the way before he suffered
the ultimate embarrassment of being run over by a Citroen Saxo.
Quiffs Addendum
I just want to add this small point. Very few people were fortunate enough to see Arwel jump into a bush in Safeways carpark. Also, if you weren't Matty, Ben, Gemma or Me; you wouldn't know about an American guy called Ricky we walked back to the Halls, whilst trying to teach him Welsh. If Matty has ever tried teaching you Welsh, please hope that you develop amnesia, and forget everything he ever taught you.
James [email protected]
Quiff [email protected]
He may be the only Guest Writer for my site, but i'm glad its him. Click Here for the last Assinder Report.