The night was a mish mash of a 'golf' pub crawl and a 'three legged' pub crawl. That is to say the participants were tied to their partner(s) with some of the boys wearing psudeo golf gear. Well rugby shirts actually. But they did have a score sheet. And lots of money. Lots. Courtesty of the student loans company. Well daddy.
Each drink in each bar was a "hole". All the outward organisation was to mask the fact that by the end of the night there should be vomit or sex (or both in Drunk Boy's evil machinations). Our participants had been hard at it for about four hours.
They were pissed. And vocal. Vocal in the way that only rich students given their first taste of unsupervision can be. Pricks. Serious pricks. Another chorus of "Hey baby, Ooo Ah!, I wanna know wow wow wow, will you be my guy?" sporned from their table. Still 'singing' they took a large people carrier taxi to the Star. Judging from the expression of the driver's face they boisterously 'sung' all the way there.
Accross the road from the pub a pair of eyes flashed and curtains twitched as they got out of the cab.
The party managed to get inside the pub. This proceedure was hampered by the way they were tied to eachother for the purpose of hilarity. Their own hilarity presumed Blue Collar Workingman. Blue Collar Workingman was trying to take a slash in a very cramped urinal alongside Jonty attached to Lolly & Bunny.
Blue Collar Workingman had no compunction in unfurling his manhood and thought to himself;
"Take a look at what you'll never get bitch",
and deftly dribbled the last few golden drops over Bunny's toes. Blue Collar Workingman promtly left without attempting to wash his hands, leaving Bunny regreting her choice of flip flops and generally hating such lower class drinking establishments.
At the bar Lex was working. He was finishing a pint of Guinness for Guy With Deadlocks as Lambchop's mellow, melancholy vibes drifed through the smoke. Suddenly the door had burst open and instantly the volume in the room raised by a factor of 20. Our participants had arrived. Lex noted a guy tied to two ladies heading straight to the gents.
The others piled into the bar, each trying to shout over the other. Guy With Dreadlocks at the bar turned pale as he was jostled out of the way by a half cut Benedict.
"Ow" said Esther. Benedict had suddenly dragged her to the bar. The thin wire that bound their ankles and wrists together was proving uncomfortable. Now he was waving a golf score sheet in Lex's face.
Lex was standing roughly six inches away. There really was no need to shout.
"Oi. Do you do cocktails?"
Lex thought "Fuck off mate, this isn't London" and said mildy "No."
"I'll av a shtella then. Oi Esther what d'you wan?.... An a double vodka redbull mate."
Lex obliged. His teeth ground together. Then he smiled serenely as a vision came to him.... all of them tied togther being sprayed with bleach. Ahhhh. Thats right they wish they weren't tied together now don't they? They tried to escape but were too slow and lumbering.
He came back to reality and frowned.
"Thats Eight pounds please mate."
Benedict put an american express in his hand.
"Don't take cards."
"What do you mean you don't take cards?" Asked Benedict incredulously; his face flushed red, the blood flowing through capillaries under high pressure. The drink seemed to make him unable to grasp this premis.
"Er. Don't have a card machine. We don't take cards." Stated Lex simply. The bar was now really busy and really noisy. He dashed off upstairs to ask Matt to lend him a hand....
ILLUSTRATION BY ENDERS.