Off on my travels again. This time I'm at the mercy of GNER as I make my way to Newcastle for a business meeting and a big company do. Spent the whole previous evening emptying the contents of my wardrobe and trying to pair up tops and bottoms for the party. In the end I went for a Diesel/Primark combo of jeans and black t shirt adorned with various crucifixes and bracelets. I think I'm turning into Madonna circa 1984.
Surprisingly the trip North was pretty uneventful apart from a toothless drunk across the aisle who kept emptying a carrier bag full of Celebrations and Quality Street onto his table and counting them. After he satisfied himself that they were all still there he would scoop them up and put them back for 20 minutes before starting all over again.
He caught me watching him outside Peterborough and waved a mini Mars bar in my face and laughed so much he nearly choked on his own phlegm, like a TB victim who's just won the lottery.
Jumped in a cab at Newcastle station and when I said where I was going I got what sounded like some mild form of Geordie abuse. 30 seconds later when we pulled up to the hotel I realised why the cabbie hadn't been best pleased. The hotel was just the other side of the traffic lights. I felt so sheepish and embarrassed I gave him a fiver and told him to keep the change.
After a curry I finished off some work in my room and had a glass of something passing as red wine before getting ready for bed. I was really tired and looking forward to hitting the pillows. I slid under the covers with a grin on my face and my specs perched on the end of my nose. It took about 5 seconds before I realised I was lying on something damp!
I threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. Well I didn't exactly leap. It was too late at night for leaping. Anyway I switched the lights on and gently patted the mattress. It was definitely damp. Should I sniff it? I sniffed it! No smell but it's damp. I sat on the sofa for a few minutes wondering what I should do. No choice but to call reception and think about packing up and moving rooms.
After about 5 minutes there was a knock at the door and Blakey from On the Buses walked in! I swear he was a dead ringer. He has a feel of the bed and ventures a sniff too. We're both rubbing the sheets now and it's becoming clear that the dampness seems to have vanished! He's now looking at me like I'm some sort of mad person. He's quick though as he suggested that it was probably the Fog off the Tyne and maybe I should shut my window. I found myself agreeing with his theory to get out of my predicament. He bid me goodnight as I rushed him out the door. I guess I'll never know where the dampness came from or where it went. Maybe it was some kind of paranormal activity!
Next morning my guts were playing up after the curry. I'd already had 2 toilet sittings in the hotel before the cab arrived. Why don't hotels provide bog brushes. I'm sure it's so the maids can have a right good laugh at your skid marks.
I'd only been in the office for about half an hour when the curry made itself known again. Nothing worse that doing a poo in the office but I had no choice in the matter. I sneaked down the corridor and after checking to make sure I had no neighbours I landed in trap number 4. Just at the point of relaxation, the toilet door opens and in come a group of sqealing lads from the call centre. I think I've only ever taken a dump at work on 2 occasions and both times I ended up with a giggling audience outside. Having a shit can be really shit sometimes.
The main event was the party in the evening. I work with a great team of people and we always have fantastic nights out but this one was extra special as it marked a big change in our company. A change for the good I have to say. It's been a dead exciting time and we were all really up for a good time.
As usual, tea-total Frank from Sales got rat arsed after 2 pints of Carling and was swaying by the ladies toilets offering Marlboro Lights to anything that walked past. We got him a cab at half nine as his eyes were rolling back into his head after someone gave him a Sambuca.
Soon it was the last record of the night and we were all on the floor linking arms and shouting along to The Proclaimers and 5000 miles. As we got to the 2nd verse I felt this hand down the back of my jeans. Inside my Polo underpants! I turned to Diane who was on my right but realised her hand was on my shoulder. The hand down my pants belonged to Ian from Finance. How rude!
We staggered across the bridge to Buffalo Joe's for more of the same. I love Buffalo Joe's. Especially the bar staff. Those sexy lads in chaps and leather waistcoats are very pleasant viewing and the girls are not bad either. I was apparently quite easy on the eye to a young gun who followed me around like a puppy all night. I say puppy but I think he was more like a drunk velociraptor as he tried to get me away from the pack at every opportunity. I was flattered and it was fun but he wasn't my type.
After a quick snog by the wheelie bins I escaped back to the herd only to be thrown onto the bucking bull. Well I say thrown but actually I was getting boos from the crowd as they were getting bored waiting for me to take off my boots, jewellery and find a relatively sober person to hold my mobile phone. I finally made my entrance and leapt onto the bouncy base around the bull. Misjudged the bounce and fell forward, bashing my nose on the saddle. I didn't ever get my leg over and staggered off with a bloody nose only to be greeted by Ian from Finance with a tissue and a smile.
What to do next? Another grope by the bins or should I risk the foggy bed?
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