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Note To Self: I am not nineteen anymore.

Quite how I didn’t get my head kicked in on Saturday night is something of a mystery to me.  And I really can’t blame anyone or anything other than me and my insatiable appetite for strong beer.  Another Note To Self: I am a cock when I’m drunk.

The scene is thus: it was probably about midnight, and we were in a nice bar somewhere (I really have no idea where) in Sheffield.  I was, as I may have mentioned, very drunk.  My mate points at another man in the bar.  “He looks like Andriy Voronin.  Go and tell him.”

As I may have mentioned, I’m a cock when I’m drunk.  I’m a big stupid fucking Clown For Hire.  My mate knows this, which is probably why he tells me to do stupid things.  So over I wandered and asked matey-boy if he was the aforementioned shit footballer, an obvious dig at his quite ridiculous pony tail.  (I’ve always followed the theory that under every pony tail lurks an arsehole.)  But anyway, some unfunny banter went back and forth.  Thankfully him and his seven-or-so mates decided not to give me the shoeing I so richly deserved.  I got bored and went away to be shouted at by my girlfriend.  And quite rightly so.

The karmic God of alcohol would have her revenge, however, by striking me down with the mother of all hangovers on Sunday.  A hangover which stretched right into the afternoon, and which persuaded me to ditch my planned 4-mile run and swap it for a far less enjoyable McDonalds.  A large ‘Big Tasty’ meal (Trade Descriptions Act, anyone?), with vanilla milkshake, if you’re interested.  All very disappointing, as McDonalds meals invariably are (especially ones purchased at the Drive Thru — or the McDrive as it’s now known, FFS.  Essentially you buy something which is tepid at best and then let it cool down a bit more as you take it home.).  So, the point of all this is that I didn’t go for a run.

Saturday had, for the large part, been very enjoyable.  A few daytime beers, a meal at Pizza Express and then on to a cracking venue called The Boardwalk to watch David Ford.  After a while stood by the bar someone said they recognised a chap in the crowd a few feet in front of us.  A lady sitting on the bar piped up that she recognised him too.  We eventually decided it was Lee “Bombhead” Otway, of Hollyoaks fame and, I’m sure you all recall, Soapstar Superstar and Love Island.

It’s worth pointing out here that I hate Hollyoaks, but having seen Lee Otway on TV a couple of times I thought he seemed a likeable enough chap.  I wondered if he was there because he’s a fan of David Ford or if he’d been dragged along with someone else.  After the gig — by which point I was steaming drunk — I got my chance to ask him in an embarrassing and at times downright rude chat, which I now look back on and cringe.  Things I remember about the conversation:

• Calling him “Bombhead” throughout.  I asked his real name then continued to refer to him as “Bombhead.”
• He said he’d been dragged along by his girlfriend, but thought David Ford was excellent.
• Pretty much forcing him to go and buy Ford’s first album from the merchandise stall.  (Incidentally I think you should go and buy it too.)
• Trying not to snigger when he described the sitcom he was writing with some other bloke I’d never heard of.
• Perhaps too proudly announcing he finished fourth in Soapstar Superstar (in response to me asking if it was him who came third in Fame Academy).  I said I thought he was good in it, then made some remark about not liking “that twat that won it.”  Turned out Bombhead really liked him. 

The embarrassing celebrity ingratiating didn’t stop there either.  Somewhere after meeting Bombhead and either before or after meeting the Andriy Voronin lookalike (I really have no idea), we saw former footballer and now Crystal Palace Assistant Manager Keith Curle in another bar.  Despite pleas from my girlfriend (“Please don’t go and talk to him.  You’ll make a fool of yourself and you’ll embarrass me.”) I went over to say hello, not without offering my not-exactly-favourable opinion on Neil Warnock (the manager to whom he is Assistant) and the two gentlemen (or “old twats”, as I think I referred to them) he was drinking with.  All in all a thoroughly shocking display.  I honestly sometimes think it would be better if I stopped drinking, but then I think of that invincible King-Of-The-World feeling I get after about ten pints (usually about fifteen minutes before I start acting like a dick) and I reconsider.  But, to return to my original point, I am no longer nineteen and I perhaps need to calm down a little. 

Time for me to crowbar in another top five.  I can’t mention David Ford without saying how truly great he is.  Not only a very talented songwriter but a stunning live performer.  One of his ‘tricks’ in his live show is that he uses a loop pedal to build layers of instruments on top of each other, creating a stunning ‘band’ effect on his own.  It’s difficult to do it justice to be honest, so I’ll just suggest you all go and see him on his next tour (early next apparently, to coincidence with the release of his new album).  Or click on the links below.  Check out his MySpace page, particularly the new track ‘Panic!’ which is straight away one of my favourite ever songs, and kicks off my Top Five (in no order):

• Panic!
• State Of The Union  
• Hurricane 
• I’m Alright Now
• Katie (OK it’s me singing a cover but it’s still a great song)

While you’re checking out those links I’ll be trying to lose weight, get fitter and stop being such a dick.  I’ll be in touch soon.

 

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