Fisticuffs, Shaving Foam, Soiled Sheets and a Parrot

Rome wasn't built in a day, but Croydon on the other hand...


It was a Friday and I had taken the day off work as I was heading down to Brighton to attend my good friend Russel's stag do. We had all paid 220 pounds up front for a 'crazy' weekend package that guaranteed fun, fun, fun.

Money was a bit tight, but luckily my chum Simon was driving down and offered to give me a lift, all I had to do was meet him at Croydon. For those of you that have never been to Croydon, I can confirm that it is the armpit of London. Advertised on the 'Croydon' name boards at the station, is that Croydon is the home of the Nestle factory.

That's their claim to fame, the highlight, that the city boasts a factory. How many Japanese tourists do you think they have stolen from Buckingham palace with that pitch? Still the lift was going to save me about 20 pounds sterling, so I couldn't complain.

I left my house at 14:00 and arrived at Croydon at 15:00. I had been instructed by Simon to meet him at the Blockbusters, which he reliably informed me, was a couple of minutes walk from the station.

15 minutes later I was in the heart of the Croydon beast, with no Blockbusters to be seen.

On the Seventh day God rested, talk about early retirement the lazy bastard, get your arse back in the office on Monday and sort Croydon out. It transpired that I had passed the meeting place 10 minutes ago, the reason for this being that Blockbusters had now closed, no doubt making way for a trendy Yate's wine bar.

Any way I finally found Simon and we set off on our way to Brighton...well for five minutes anyway. As we head down a motorway steam starts to emit from Simon's car.

Simon turns to me, 'that doesn't look good', I agree with him. The hazard lights get switched on and we pull over to the side of the motorway, the lack of a hard shoulder makes this somewhat precarious.

We both stand in front of the bonnet, there is a hell of a lot of smoke coming out of it and privately, as I suggest to Simon that he flicks open the bonnet, I worry that the car is on fire.

As I bravely stand well back, Simon pulls the catch and opens the bonnet. Relief, there is no sign of fire but the smoke is undoubtedly a cause for concern. Neither of us know a thing about cars, but we stare intently trying to ascertain exactly what has gone wrong. Luckily even an automotively challenged individual such as myself could diagnose that the water tank being completely empty may be a contributing factor to our dilemma.

I ask Simon when he last put any water in, 'I don't know' was his reply. Are you a member of the AA or RAC was my next question, 'No' was the answer...bollocks. We were in the middle of nowhere , it was 15:30 in the day and we had broken down on the motorway. Friday rush hour was closing in, but luckily I need not worry as my comrade leapt into action declaring that he would go and fetch us the water the car so desperately needed.

So I sat on the grass verge, confident that with automotive liquid replenishment we would soon be on our way. 45 minutes later Simon returns, a large plastic McDonald's cup in each hand.

'What's that, couldn't you get a bottle of water?'
'It was all they had, dam the government pressure stopping them serving the supersize portions'

So he pours both cups into the tank, the water level is still well below the 'minimum' line. We get back in the car, Simon turns the ignition and now the car won't even start.

It's now about 16:30 and the road is getting pretty busy, it's wide enough for two cars but is still pretty dangerous. Simon doesn't want to call his dad, because he will get told off for automotive neglect. Instead he frantically calls round his friends to see if any of them can give us a tow. Eventually he gets through to one, but he is at work so won't be able to get there until 17:15 at the earliest.

17:45 - several near collisions and a hundred dirty looks from fellow drivers later, our saviour arrives. Despite not thinking to put water in his car, ever, Simon did take the precautionary measure of keeping a tow rope in his boot. Unfortunately it was more of a tow string and it soon became apparent that someone was in danger of losing a bumper. Subsequently we ditched the car in the nearest residential area and ran. Simon's friend kindly gave us a lift and three hours later I was back at Croydon station.

Having purchased the 20 pound ticket, we were on our way. We got to Brighton at about 19:00 and instructed a taxi driver to take us to the Blue Lagoon B&B. He had no idea where it was, this was not a good sign.

The Blue Lagoon was situated on the outskirts of Brighton, no different really to any local dive, except they had a parrot in the corner. I believe the rooms were modelled on a leading Korean sweatshop, with seven of us in each. It was the first time I had slept on a bunk bed since the age of 12.

Still I was just happy to finally be there and quickly unpacked my stuff and shot down to their pub for a pint. Soon after the taxi's arrived to take us into town. Two of Russel's fiances Stevenage born and bred uncles had come down for the weekend and I was to have my first conversation with one of them in the taxi.

The majority of us knew each other from working in sales for a publishing house and as we regaled on the good old times, Uncle Steve chimes in with,

'I work in sales selling time shares. I'm the best salesman in the world, I've never met anyone that is as good as me.'

There was a brief silence, there was no humour in his voice, he clearly thought this. We ignored him and continued to chat amongst ourselves.

'I'm brilliant at sales...'
I couldn't take it any more and retorted with, 'Listen mate, you bored us the first time with that.'

He didn't like that, but at least it shut him up. Uncle knob heads introductory opening aside, the rest of the night went swimmingly with a good time being had by all. We all returned to the Blue Lagoon in small hours, intoxicated to the level one would expect for a stag do. But the fun was not to stop there.

My good friend Ollie thought he would play a humorous jape on Simon and crept into his room in the dark of night. Having rummaged through a bag, he located some shaving foam and proceeded to coat the facial regions of his target.

All of a sudden Simon walks into the room. Ollie does a double take, if Simon was there then who was he spraying with shaving foam? It was Russel's other Uncle 'dangerous' Dave, who he had only met 4 hours ago. Simon, with full knowledge that it was Dave still thought that Ollie was onto a winner and grasped the shaving foam from his hand and went about finishing the job.

Dave's eyes open, he sees Simon standing over him and with both hands goes for his jugular. Everything kicks off and somehow it all bundles out into the corridor. Everyone is trying to calm the Uncles down and explain the 'innocent' mistake that has occurred. Intoxication levels don't help and when Uncle Steve thinks that Russel is siding with his friends over his soon to be extended family, he loses it and swings for Russel. A couple of us pull the Uncle back and he falls to the floor and is swiftly booted to the head by Russel's protective younger brother.

Eventually and amazingly it all calms down and everyone returns to bed, myself and Simon areluckily sharing the same room as the Uncles, thank god I was drunk.

We arise the next morning about 9:00, the same time that uncle Dave in his infinite wisdom had booked the paint balling for. Tensions were still high, Ollie decided that the rest of the weekend would go a lot smoother if he was to leave and jumped on an early train home.

Russel insisted on the Uncle's additionally making an early departure and although they proclaim that there was still unfinished business, they agreed to do so. I was in the room as Uncle Steve was packing his bags. Still incensed that he had been kicked in the head, he explained that he had been bullied until the age of 14. It was then that he decided to take Karate lessons and much like sales, this was an area in which he excelled. This noble vigilante then hunted down anyone that had wronged him and proceeded to gain retribution. He had swore to himself that no one would ever get the better of him ever again, which is why he could not simply forgive Russel's brother.

I was then to learn just how 'dangerous' Uncle Dave was and how close Ollie was to losing his life. Apparently Dave usually sleeps with a knife, well in fact both Uncle's do, dating back to their camping days. Also Dave has a mild sleep walking problem and can sometimes become quite disorientated, something I would imagine can be quite precarious when one sleeps with a blade.

Steve said his goodbyes, the silver lining being that we would now have more time to close a few of his big timeshare deals. I relayed this new information to Russel, both Simon and I thanked him rooming us with the Chuckle Brothers.

He claimed that he had no idea they were like that, something we may have believed if he hadn't been with his wife to be for 7 years. Still the remainder of weekend went off without a hitch, that was until Sunday morning.

Simon, clearly learning from past experiences had rubbed a mars bar into my hair while I was sleeping. It looked like I had soiled my sheets and we were due to check out there and then, this could scupper my chances with the barmaid downstairs. A taxi was booked promptly and we managed to escape with deposit in tact.

The wedding is in two weeks, in Stevenage, should be interesting.