Ardet Nec Consumitur

[jpchenet]

The one time I went to Belgium I was forced to fly on cheapo airlines so went on Ryan Air to Brussels.   Hah.......Brussels my  ****

Apparently it was Brussels Charleroi. That would be the equivalent in the UK of Bristol London!!!!   2 x £60 taxi fares to/from Stanstead, 2 x 90 Euros taxi fares to from client in Belgium later and I was at my destination, the DHL offices right next to the main Brussels airport. And the fare saving.....£100...plus an extra 4 hours lost in traveling time.

Still, at least I got to see the field known as Waterloo!!

[hgb]

HGB

I must say I find Belgium a little sinister at times. Within an hour of arriving at the airport, I saw in the following order, a dwarf dressed up in a big plastic ice cream cone, a sad looking fat man with hypertension facing backwards in a speeding Customs Van, a machine in the street that sold hot frites and smelt awful and a dead horse on the side of the road. Now I defy anyone to see that lot by 09.00am of a Monday anywhere in the UK.

Different? Surely. Surreal? Definitely. Deeply weird? Maybe.

But I find it very difficult "love" Belgium.

Uhh, where about was that ? That sounds weird indeed but still less scary and repulsive than many of the stories above . Road side Friteries are an excellent thing to have, though.

[BigH]

Whoa! I've just stumbled back onto this thread, (with much amusement) and would like to stand up now, tall and proud, stiff as a guardsman, and say "Hi, my names H, and I'm an aspiring alcoholic!".

I've never really understood why it's called the Demon Drink. Is it because of the Demons that you're drinking with, or is it because of the ones that come out of your bottom the next morning? Legion are the times I've embarrassed myself and others horribly, since starting out on this foamy road. Getting into bed, stinking drunk and naked, with my parents (who were up until then blissfully sound asleep) after a session at The Dolce Vita (ten strippers for the price of one, every alternate Wednesday) was probably when it all started. There was also the time they found me, and this must be a common tale, in the morning, sitting bolt upright on the sofa clutching a knife and fork with the contents of about six curry containers spread uniformly from my forehead to my bollocks, culminating in a chilli riddled puddle between my feet. Now that we're grown up though, things are different, aren't they?

A good adult game, if I remember correctly, is to visit a boozer (what the hell was the name of that brewery where 'Old Sphincter' was the premium ale?) with a 14 pound sledgehammer, reach Himalayan heights of inebriation, then try and hammer the parking meters outside into the ground. I can speak from experience here, and let you know that it guarantees a night on a very uncomfortable bed and an unearthly timed morning reveille. I also spent a similar evening retired dressed in a lime green, slightly see through nightie and very questionable underwear. Somebody surely has more facts than me on this one, but I can't find them.

I have to say though that LM has only limited opportunities for 'Oh crikey, the vicar' moments. I think this is because so many others are filling the lanes on the highway to oblivion. Why we get allowed back into the same hotel on Sundays every year is beyond me, and a testament to the tolerance of our French hosts. When the owner and his missus have to get up at about 3 am, dressed in their nightclothes, and carry you unconcious from the foot of the stairs to your room, then I think it reasonable to assume that they won't exactly be pleased to see you next year. But no! What on earth they think when they see us drive off, tooting and waving, 4 hours later is a mystery.

One of crew, Wor Geoff, managed to clear a large space around him in the grandstand, just as the cars were crossing the start finish line at the start of the race. People actually left their seats rather than stay and watch the pinnacle moment of the weekend. Now that has to be impressive. And I too would have been full of admiration had I not known that he was spending the weekend with me in a very small tent.

I'm always keen to discover something new though, and after a couple of years of Kir Royals on the first night I understand some rough cider is being considered for next year (normally I only use this stuff to keep the compost heap ticking over in the winter), and it would seem churlish not to get a couple of packs of Grimbergen in, if only so we can see Wor Geoff wrestle with Mr Arse again in the morning.

They're not kidding when they say motor racing is dangerous...

H

[Andy Zarse]

Legion are the times I've embarrassed myself and others horribly, since starting out on this foamy road.

They're not kidding when they say motor racing is dangerous...

H

H you too are a very wicked man! You will answer for your sins in the Ever After, which needless to say, will be DOWN THERE!

My own first proper brush with the embarrassment caused by booze coincidentally came with my first proper brush with the embarrassment caused by a woman (as opposed to girl). Sure I had chucked up over some girls lap after a few too many lagers at the Young Farmers Disco, but I mean the sordid feeling when you wake in the morning and look at "what you have done".

1981 at the tender age of 18, I went to stay with a mate in Middlesborough. We got very drunk and I was accosted in a club and led away to the slaughter by an older woman. I say older and I mean older! Her name was Audrey. I expect she has died of old age by now or at least is in a home for bewilldered old bags. We went back to her house on a council estate, the sort where every garden has half a rusty Mini and six burnt out matresses in the garden (why?). Even on a sunny day, a pall of gloom hung over the area, it was probably the ICI factory. Anyway, I awoke the next morning with a never before experienced feeling of wretchedness and a dose of the crabs. Obviously the crabs didn't make themselves known for a few days but you know what I mean.

Now to some folk this would be enough to turn them teetotal. But for me it was a life changing moment. I was quite happy to see the experience as a antidote to the drudgery of everyday life. Not that I wanted to end up with a scarlet old hag again but I realised that booze, if left to take it's own course, could lead to all sorts of strange and ultimately rewarding high jinks and scrapes. Thus has it been ever since.

I owe it a lot, alcohol.

[Dark Warrior]

Some of the stories on this thread are truly, truly hilarious...  

I have to agree... alchohol is a truly amazing thing... buts its ability to gird ones loins and render them useless at the same time is one quality however, that has always dismayed me...

[Robbo SPS]

Some of the stories on this thread are truly, truly hilarious...  

I have to agree... alchohol is a truly amazing thing... buts its ability to gird ones loins and render them useless at the same time is one quality however, that has always dismayed me...

Try Vodka and Orange , yes a bit girlie , but its a love drug . Your women will want you more after  a drunken V & O session  

[saveloy]

Andy, UNCLEAN, so you got a dose of the dreaded 'Sandies'  who hasn't? I found that whiskey poured neat onto the scote and all affected areas got rid of them. They get pissed and fall off. oh well thats the theory anyway.
must agree that some of the stories posted here have me in fits of laughter, maybe someone should collate and print them,
H were you Audrey when you were younger!!!

[Andy Zarse]

Andy, UNCLEAN, so you got a dose of the dreaded 'Sandies'  who hasn't? I found that whiskey poured neat onto the scote and all affected areas got rid of them. They get pissed and fall off. oh well thats the theory anyway.
must agree that some of the stories posted here have me in fits of laughter, maybe someone should collate and print them,
H were you Audrey when you were younger!!!

Good idea about the whisky Sav, but I dont think it could have been H. Unless, that is, he used to be a particularly talented and perverted drag artiste with an infested doodah, which I recall, had the approximate demensions of a wizards' sleeve.

[BigH]

"Unless, that is, he used to be a particularly talented and perverted drag artiste with an infested doodah, "

Oooh, I've been rumbled.

Never, ever, carry a card in your pocket with the "Re-assign Gender? Yes Please!" box ticked.

Wizards' sleeve indeed!

H

[saveloy]

H thats why a female to male gender re-assignment is known as astrap-a-dick-to-me. and male to female, a dick-less tracey

[Andy Zarse]

Sav, haven't you got patients to gas?

[saveloy]

not anymore today, off to the pub for some 49er now,

[gibberish]

Quote from a colleague of mine in Belgium, when asked about the Grimbergen:

"Well, its is a beer that used to be brewed by monks, that were not allowed to enjoy any pleasure in their abbey except their own brewed beer. No women, no gastronomics, no luxery, ... So basically this beer should compensate for all the pleasures you can ever imagine....
They did not change the recipe since then...
Hope you understand now, the experiences of some people..."

I obviously hasn't aged very well