Doing one

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Stoat, Jul 15, 2005.

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  1. 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.


  2. 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:
  3. Thank the Deity!

    I thought it was just me.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.
  6. Ditches.


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

    The wrong hotel, correct room number.


    Front doorstep.

    - God, this is cathartic.
  7. 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.
  8. 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:
  9. 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.

  10. cpunk

    cpunk LE Moderator

    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.
  11. I've been getting off lightly, then!
  12. 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 !!
  13. 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:
  14. For those of ARRSE about to drink..........

  15. 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.