Oct 23, 2009
A bent bank card, top five Killers, and how much does hair weigh?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you — not through the streets of London — but to Loughborough, June 2008.
Seeking to relive their ‘glory days,’ four former Accountancy students go back to the university town in which they so frequently disgraced and embarrassed themselves on many, many nights out.
Sainsbury’s cash point, one member of the group needs cash. He reaches into his pocket and produces a bank card, quite literally folded in half, to much hilarity. Witty banter flies around, mainly centring on the fact that his folded card won’t work in the machine and he’ll have to beg his friends for beer tokens. Trying to hide his embarrassment he straightens his card and slides it hopefully into the machine. To the disappointment of the other former Accountancy students present, his transaction looks to be going to plan. He enters his pin, and lo and behold, the machine accepts his card! He punches the air in celebration, throws an expletive or two at his no-longer-mocking friends, and wheels off down the street, arms aloft. One of the group, noting that the card is still in the machine and the transaction is at the ‘choose amount you would like to withdraw’ stage, opts to do that hilarious thing we’ve all done at some point. He reaches over and withdraws the maximum amount he can from the machine — £200.
The straightening of the card
Now, at university this would have been hilarious (for all except for the owner of the bank account who would have to carry two hundred of the queen’s pounds around all night and somehow not spend it). Once at university a friend was withdrawing some cash when I reached over his shoulder and hit the £100 button. Needless to say the following morning his wallet was empty after he frittered the lot away in Loughborough’s most glamorous of student haunts.
Back to 2008, the hilarity of the situation was quashed somewhat when the owner of the bank account returned to the cash point after a few seconds of running around celebrating like he’d scored a goal for his beloved Scunthorpe United to find his friends giggling like schoolgirls.
“How much did you withdraw?” he asked.
“Two hundred quid,” we guffawed.
“Two hundred quid?” he scoffed. “I shit two hundred quid these days.” That was the end of our fun.
Forward to now, yesterday in fact. You may recall I specifically asked for reasons NOT to run the kilomathon. What I actually received were comments telling me I could do it, and I should do it. I was banking on my girlfriend talking me out of it, but all she said was, “I think that’s a really good idea.”
The one comment that nailed it though was a facebook message from the gentleman referred to above: “I will pay to the charity of your choice the amount of money that “I shit these days” if you complete this kilomarathon successfully.”
So tonight, believe it or not, I am going on a three mile run with my girlfriend. I’ve mapped it out already on this great website. That’s right, next March I’m going to do this bloody stupid great kilomathon. Sweet Jesus.
On a less-energetic note, I’ve had The Killers back catalogue on repeat on my iPod the last few weeks, and present my top five Killers tracks, only one of which could possibly be up for debate. In no order:
- Mr Brightside
- All These Things That I’ve Done
- Bling (Confession Of A King)
- Why Do I Keep Counting?
- Under The Gun
Anyway, having done nothing other than an hour of five-a-side football in the way of exercise and in a desperate attempt to lose weight I got my girlfriend to shave all my hair off last night. And it worked—I’m down to 18st 5lbs. I’m not sure how much hair weighs to be honest, but hopefully after a couple of runs I’ll have better news next week.
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