It was the Big Man’s 30th and we had all come together to celebrate the anniversary of his birth for the 29th time. It was well organised, well executed, and most people had passports. Some not until the last minute but there’s nothing like cutting it short eh Starkey?!
Mr organiser (Jooooooooe) had been kind enough to set this trip up for us; as usual, he dictated where he wanted us to go, he told us what we’d be paying and then we’d all just magically turn up! If you’re reading this pal, it’s a compliment and not a criticism.
When Joe first mentioned a get together in Dublin I was a bit sceptical about sharing a hostel room with these t’up North folk. Nevertheless it was all planned down to a tee… the only problem was the people the with funny accents got the dates mixed up. They thought we were going in February and not March… I guess a trait of living in the North of England is forgetting when you good friends’ birthdays are…
Probably… actually, this was the most defiant photo of the trip! Kyle and I had an idea to re-create Jack and Rose’s touching moment when he stands behind her at the front of the ship and holds her in his arms, of course, Titanic being the film. We tootled on over to the middle of the bridge and asked a random woman to politely take our photo – She wasn’t to know the amount of pain she would soon to be in from the forth-coming amount of laughter she would be emitting.
As I was the tallest, I played the hunky part of Jack, whereas Kyle was small, and had longer hair, so he got lumbered with playing the lady in this little role-play scenario.
Passers by gazed in amazement to see two ‘gay lovers’ enjoying their trip in the heart of Dublin, not giving a single f*ck about their prominent gay actions and making their feelings abundantly clear for all to see. Most of the other fellow-bridge walkers laughed at Rob and Joe (taking the photo from the side) who were laughing at the woman who was laughing at us.
So what you actual see in this photo is myself standing behind Kyle with the wind blowing his golden locks behind his head… and behind that you see the photographer looking back at Rob’s camera who is taking a photo of this whole scenario.
What an idea.
Joe and I have know Rob since university back in 2005, we’ve always stayed in touch and we’re all good mates.
The bottom half of the photo above shows Rob and I somewhat slightly intoxicated during a night out in the student union @ the University of Wales, Aberystwyth. The top half was re-created in Dublin as it depicts 12 years of friendship, how we both love a few beers or 10 and that we have both become a lot better looking with age, well-trimmed facial hair and a few crinkles in the ol’skin. Call us modest but we know we are.
Unknown to her, a very-attractive 18-year old from a place I can’t remember was to spend 2 days in a hostel room. With us.
When life gives you lemons, apparently, you are supposed to make lemonade. So what happens when life gives you (the you being Sydney): a bed in a hostel room in the centre of Dublin, containing 7 testosterone-filled men who drool at the sight of a bit of young meat and are happy to consume any alcohol which is put in front of them?
Surprisingly you’d think she’d want to jump out of the window, but as we were on the ground floor, she decided to stay.
It must have been the smell that hit her as she walked into the room for the first time which changed her mind on leaving. You all know the sort of feeling I am talking about – the one where you get off the plane in a hot country, and it hits you smack in the face, that one, yeah?
Well, this was similar, except Sydney must have been hit by a wall consisting of the following smells: burping, sick, some unfortunate spilled alcohol, crisps and a country-wide selection of bottom burps.
The language wasn’t exactly PC either. I can’t remember that many phrases but I remember one of us asking her if something was a panty-dropper? She was obviously spoiled for choice that night and again, bamboozled by to many options, decided to go to sleep, alone, to our disappointment yet reasonable understanding of the situation which could have gone very very very very wrong.
Hence, “Sorry Sydney” as we had to apologise for so many things. I think it was because in the back of our minds, the terms perverts, sleazebags, weirdos and sexually frustrated alcoholics came to mind.
God knows why.