Doing one

Does anyone else suffer from a pathalogic desire to "roam" after a large quantity of pop?

For some reason, I always seem to disappear from the group when hammered.

Mrs. Stoat is getting quite fed up of it.

Local bobbies (US version) didn't think it was safe for me to be in charge of myself when they woke me up on the park bench on the town square (three miles from the pub I was at). No amount of explained that " I was a fuggin Britissshh sholdier - we do thish all the time, mate" would convince them, and it was only when a mate arrived (having been summoned by Mrs. Stoat) and vitrually kidnapped me from under their noses did I get out of a night in the clink.

And I really wasn't that pished.

So, is it just me that goes walkabout or is this a common thing?

It's Friday tomorrow, so early returns gratefully received.


I too have a habit of roaming and am quite often to be found hugging a street lamp or a tree at the end of a night out. :oops: When I go out drinking with friends, there's usually a 'nominated Dozy watcher' (no, not you ctauch :roll: ) to ensure that I'm with the group upon entering and leaving the night's drinking establishments, if we don't stick to the 'safe' option of one pub in one evening. On one particularly riotous evening, forward planning by a friend saw me attached (by the wrist) to him all night by use of one of those toddler stretchy-handcuff things. You could always ask your mates to bungee you to one of them, but I s'pose it depends on how close you are & your feelings about bondage! 8O :lol:
Nope, you are definitely not alone. Quite often I go for a wander, at some point find my way home, wake up in the morning and delete all the "Where are you?" text messages from the night before. I really don't know why I do it, I just reach a point where I think about going for a walk and don't feel the need to tell anyone I am with. Pished I am but from whenever I have done it I am always conscious that I am doing it. I think my worst was on leaving drinks for someone in London and to get home usually took me 20 minutes by train. I awoke to shoulder shaking with a lady saying "We are here". As I sucked the dribble back into my mouth, dusted down the damp shoulder patch I left the train and was greeted by a sign saying "To the Seafront". It was a cold night and a long wait for the first train in the morning.
i used to be really really bad for this ... although i used to call it "tramping out" and i've lost count of the times i've woken up and thought
"where the fu...... why am i all damp ..... oh b0llocks"

in no particular order i've woken up

on a train ... but i was in my home town and hadn't been anywhere
in a grit bin .... road salt burns :x
in the wrong country ... damn
in more bushes than i care to count
in the shadow of some truly enormous horrors

now when i go out i ensure i'm tethered to a grown up and wear a tag with my name and address on round my neck.


Bus ("Where am I?" ;"W*******." ; "Where's that?")

The wrong hotel, correct room number.


Front doorstep.

- God, this is cathartic.
1) Wandered off, fell down embankment, got stuck in a ditch with a twisted ankle.

2) (not quite 'wandering' but)...Locked self out of hotel room, went to reception but forgot my name.
Oftentimes in my teenage years I’d stagger into Trafalgar Square in the early hours, peering drunkenly at the night-buses, never managing to recall a) the number of my bus nor b) the location of the bus-stop that it left from, hence I’d jump on a bus that showed a destination I recognised (hey, if it went south of the river it was a bonus!) grab a seat & nod off. I have had more than the odd 5 hour ‘scenic route’ journey home… :oops:
I have a version of this, which is the booze-induced Homing Beacon. When I'm really, really drunk I have the ability, no matter where I am, to get home without having a fcuking clue how I did it. Then I wake up to find that the "Beer Gorilla" hiding in the cupboard has smacked me in the face, puked on my shirt and emptied my wallet. Again.

Luckily nowadays I have quite a good constitution for booze and seldom get that pished anymore.



Not me Gov, but it does remind me of the RAOC force photographer in Belize who went for a few beers a week or so after his arrival, got sh1tfaced and then got lost on his way back to his bunk. He staggered around APC for a bit before eventually getting caught in the barbed-wire entanglement on the airport perimeter. He thrashed about in this for a while, getting more firmly hooked up, before passing out.

When found the next morning he was:

a. severely hungover.

b. severely sunburnt.

c. had been bitten by just about every insect in Belize, and it's thought that a number had made special excursions from Mexico and Guatemala to have a go as well.

When I went to see him in the Force Hospital later that day, he looked like a Michelin Man with leprosy.
yeah we had a bloke crash out on the way back from the bar in Rideau ..

he woke up in the morning to find a colony of fire ants trying to move into his bottom !!
Not quite on topic but pretty close,

I had a nasty surprise myself one cold winter’s morning.
My lady had gone out the previous evening for a night of fun filled drinking. As often happens on said nights out she had found a nice chap to bring home to exorcise the pole lust one gets from time to time.
Normally this goes without incident and friendly chap goes home the following morning sated and sent off with a nice bacon sarnie but this particular chap was a wanderer.
Having been dragged up to the spare room by my better half and treated to a few hours of sordidness friendly chap fell fast asleep.
Woken in the early hours by his bladder he did the gentlemanly thing and pished on our bathroom carpet. This is when it all went wrong.
He got lost on his way back to the spare room, came into my room, climbed in beside me and started to go to sleep.
Having my rest disturbed and assuming the beer monster beside me was my lady I felt it only fair that she ’relieve’ some of my tension, so grabbing the hand beside me I thrust it into my underwear, mumbling in my half sleep something about being owed one.
Several minutes later, unimpressed, I started to grumble about the technique being used, ham fisted, are you wearing boxing gloves etc, the under duvet efforts increased in speed but the quality still lacked so I decided it was appropriate to have a huge row with my lady about the selfishness that was displayed because of a hangover.
Feeling all indignant and righteous I sat bolt upright, switched on the bedside lamp and turned to launch my attack.
Laid beside me with eyes as big as saucers was friendly chap, his face a picture as his mind scrabbled frantically for the event that led from going home with a pleasant ‘up for it’ brunette to waking up with a demanding, critical, abusive blonde. :oops:
Making a swift exit with some excuse about leaving the gas on friendly chap vanished down the street.

How we laughed over breakfast that morning. :lol:
For those of ARRSE about to drink..........

Thank Christ for that - I thought it was just me!

Versions of mine:

Right hotel, wrong room. Luckily empty. Was on the Cheviot 1000 fell race. My tea-boy had to wake up my boss with the immortal words "Sir, I've lost Sgt Stoat....."

Doghouse, figuratively and literally. It's not that big. Couldn't stand up straight for a couple fo days.

Once when still in the shot decided to do the ten miler. Twisted ankle and fell coming down Flagstaff and crawled to raod where was found at taken to hozzie and abused by pissed off medic, esp as I puked on his nice clean floor. Bastrad even made me clean it up.

There's one on here from me about Westdown camp........

I now live in Nashville. Regained consciousness in The Wild Horse Saloon - I was upright-out-cold. A very surreal experience that was. Three blokes on stage about 50 yds away (big place) in front of whom were about 1,000 in perfect time line dancers. Like something Hunter S Thompson might've dreamed up.
Ah a subject close to my own heart. I myself am a wanderer, Yet somehow i always end up in the same place. A story springs to mind of a night in Bath. Drinking in O'neils me and my mates were having a rather rumbuctous occasion, Smoojalooge and the captain of the regimental rugby team were trying to convince a TA medic that sleeping with both of them wouldn't be cheating as they would all cancel each other out, the squadron gym queens were getting face slapped by every bird they went near and percy was inthe corner lagging himself. It was in all a fine night out until SHE walked through the door. The she in question was a sports student from bath University and to be honest one of themost stunning birds i've ever seen. Now being full of that false feeling of self confidence that only alcohol can provide and egged on by smooje i decided that that this goddess really needed to be chatted up by the fat kid in a bad shirt. so i went up to her and worked my magic, told a few jokes and fcuk me she was laughing. The lads were stood in amazement as it looked like i was gonna pull the bet looking bird in the place, she even bought me a drink!!! Well at this point the lady in question announced she was feeling a little selfish not staying with her mates so she finished her drink, told me she would find me later, gave me a peck on the cheak and off she went.

"Well that was a good effort" i thought to myself, as it appeared that she was simply humouring me but i got a free drink out of it so all in all this was deemed a result. Returning to the lads who had a look of shock on their faces i though no more of this lady and proceeded to help rid the world of stella. Well about an hour later i was trying not to fall down the bar when i got a tap on my shoulder. The lass from before had returned and things continued as they had left off. Well this sequence repeated for the evening she spoke to her mates, i got more and more inebriated until i decided that where i was wasn't where i wanted to be. Ignoring the fact that i had a sure thing going with an absolute stunner i started to wander.

Off i went to see the picturesque town of Bath. The lads still in the pub thought i'd gone off with this girl. I went all over the fine town only to be found later outside Perfect Pizza clutching a large pepperoni oblivious to what i had actualy done. it's only the next day i realised that i had blown out probably the best looking girl i've ever stood a chance with because i had the drunken munchies. Out there somewhere this hunny is probably lying in a gutter after hitting rock bottom thinking that the only reason i would have possibly left is because somebody better looking that her showed up. This made her lose confidence in herself, give up her career as a model and hit the bottle, thinking she stood no chance out in the modelling world because she couldn't pull that fat kid in O'neils. Now she's probably a crack whore in bristol dishing out bum sex for a tenner so she can get her next fix. Oh if only she knew that she was not inadequate she had simply pulled a wanderer her life can be saved. And here we are laughing about this

Remember kids.

Wandering costs lives.

And it cost me a shag. :lol:
I am renowned for this also among my mates. Once woke myself up by drunken sleepwalking into a drainage ditch in febuary, quite an ordeal.
Himself rarely wandered but one night in Germany having had a skin full and not getting a shag he decided he would walk back to Camp got very lost after a few hours and ended up in a small town several miles away from camp going in completely the wrong direction.

How does one get home one thinks, in ones best drunken thinkingness, spots boxhead cop shop hammers on the door and was promptly told to feck off.

Developed the I WILL get a lift home syndrome, he decided to climb the flag pole outside said cop shop quite obviously his shoes were inadequate for this effort as he kept sliding back down the pole so sensibly thought socks would be better that failed quite well having got about three feet fell off the pole and ripped his feet to shreds on the bolts holding the pole. Takes OFF socks and manages to get to the top of the flag pole by this time there was an audience of coppers (still inside the cop shop) and when himself grabbed the flag to hang on to it the coppers decided enough was enough.

He got a green and white taxi back to the block. That is his only recollection of wandering.

I on the other hand have the homing becon, when I want to go home I want to go home NOW. I have left many a pal in some club in town and gone home.

Or I say on a night out I will stay over at a pal's house get into their house, go to bed wake up and hour later and go home.

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