New Year's Eve company?

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Taff49, Jan 1, 2011.

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  1. The plan was to spend a quiet evening in with Mrs T49 and T49 junior but a random text from a mate changed all that. So we headed up to the village Social Club and saw the New Year in there. Now bear in mind that this is a small village just 6 miles from the nearest major city and a mere 15 miles from Bristol, just one pub (having a ticketed function at £45 per head on NYE) and no-where else to buy a pint. The following types were all present in the club last night, and the idle part of me wondered what types were out and about elsewhere.

    James, ex sapper and now in his mid fifties, he runs his own business and plays fast and loose with the VAT laws. Roughly 10 stone overweight and the life and soul of the club, he doesn’t hesitate to turn every situation to his advantage. He is generally a decent bloke, though after half a dozen pints of Guinness he gets a little anti with those he feels have wronged him. A classic example of “big fish in a small pond”

    Jennifer & Lindsey, James daughters. Jennifer is 23, two kids in primary school and recently divorced. Her attitude towards men and her Dad seem to have scared off every bloke in the village and she moans all night that there is no talent in town. Lindsey is 17 (age AND stone) and talks in a whiney childish voice. She is studying childcare at the local poly, as she is too scared of life outside the village to move away.

    Derek, the gay vicar. Maybe not gay, but as camp as a field of pink tents, he’s chucking the G&Ts back like there’s no tomorrow and he’s the only person who can get away with smoking cheroots inside the club. The wives present at the club think he’s great, the blokes don’t know what to make of him.

    Fred, ex merchant navy. Fred was a Bofor’s gunner on the Murmansk convoy’s of WW2 and takes every opportunity to tell everyone repeatedly. If he thinks there is a scotch and threat in it for him, he tells them again. And again. And again. Has his own stool at the bar which gives him a vantage point and the ability to intercept anyone off to the gents and tell them again how it was on the Murmansk Convoy’s while pointedly staring at his empty glass.

    Malcolm, university professor. A transplant from Exeter who moved to the village a mere 25 years ago and is still considered a suspect outsider by those born and raised here. He brings his accordion to the club and insists on leading a conga line through the graveyard next door at midnight.

    Graham and Fiona. Newly weds who are 7th generation villagers and have just moved to their first house together in the village. Despite being in their mid 20’s, they are ID checked by the barmaid who had known them all her life and still thinks of them as “kids”.

    Margaret, the bar maid. 64 years old and as blind as a bat. She also has number dyslexia which means that each round (although the same four drinks as the last time) costs a completely different amount. Spends the evening moaning about the dog ends outside the front door, despite having a 40 menthol fags a day habit herself.

    Sam. Sam is the 20 year old youngest son of Margaret the barmaid and a Nu-Metal Goth. Black lip gloss, black nail polish, huge black combat trousers with knee high biker boots and a t-shirt showing the band Cradle of Filth with the slogan “cunt puncher” on the back. Nothing he does shocks anyone, who consider his dress sense a “phase”

    Stacey and Tracey. Two incredibly fit twins with legs you could suck on for a week, who have just turned 20 and for some reason are quite happy to see in the New Year in the social club, rather than giving it large in a “nite spot” somewhere surrounded by people their own age.

    Mike, jobbing builder. Self appointed master of ceremonies for the evening, and insists on gathering everyone together around the brewery-donated Bass clock at five to midnight and handing out one party popper per person. Gets stroppy when it’s pointed out to him that the clock is 10 minutes fast.

    Shirley, Mike’s missus. Think Liz MacDonald off Corrie but with more of the cougar about her. She has been to Iceland and blown a tenner of “party food” under the mistaken belief that it will feed everyone there, and sulks when someone has the temerity to ask if there is anymore.

    Sonia, married to the local carpenter and has dressed up as though she works the streets of Amsterdam. Has a braying, chainsaw of a laugh that can be heard in the next village and sinks pints of cider from a pewter tankard. Has the ability to keep you engrossed in conversation while continually texting her mate who is sat at the next table. Rumoured to be a bit of a raver when she wants to be and you can’t help wondering if she would put out for you if you bought her a pint.

    Robbie, the village scout master. Ex Grenadier Guard and firmly believes that the Scout movement is a feeder for the Armed Forces. Slightly mad and has brought his wife who sits totally ignored in the corner while he talks on her behalf.

    Just wondered what other types might have been out at the various parties you were all attending?
     
  2. And the pictures of Stacey and Tracey are where.........
     
  3. thinking the same thing...
     
  4. Well by the sound of that lot you would have had a better time with us inmates at Rampton (un)secure hospital, several interesting characters turned up, although Sutcliffe would'nt come out of his suite, said we were too raucous.
    Or it seems Ford open had a really great shindig, even invited the local plod along.Happy new year.
     
  5. what about Geoff.

    Geoff . 58+ ex Roadie to Motorhead has the usual Greying ponytail he has had for 40 years . Drinks Newcastle Brown will always refer to it as "Dog " has an odour of spliff and tobacco and Petunia oil ,arms full of crap 70,s tatts ie Spider web + Swallow. Usually propping up speaker whenever a DJ is present, and boring anyone with stories of his days as Lemmys best mate . Asks the DJ for " SilverMachine " Hawkwind every 30 mins . Usually shit faced by 10 pm and gets Mardy when anything modern is played on dance floor but does a good mosh dance when the Quo are played . Does a turn behind the bar when things get manic and doesn't do football .
     
  6. You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

    If you did, you'd be seriously jealous.

    You would want photos.
     
  7. I have a pet 'Geoff' too, and I'm fairly convinced his odour is PATCHOULI oil, not petunia oil!! Would hate to see petunias getting a bad name! :D