Perhaps in writing this, you could term me a reactionary. Reading the Sunday Times this morning, the News Review contained an interesting article about the sickening hedonistic excess one can find on the beaches of Newquay at this time of year, full of post-GCSE 16-year olds getting drunk all the time and revelling in their own filth. Sometimes, its useful to draw parallels.
When I left the party at one in the morning, it struck me as if it was indeed reminiscent of Newquay beach (aside from the sea and sand.) Bottles and broken glass littered the ground; there appeared to be a window broken and vomit in the toilet; various plastic chair had been smashed and one hurled over the fence; a pungent mixture of sweat and alcohol poisoned the air. And of course, various druken bodies scattered around, that were in various stages of horizontalness.
It began like a terrible story. A children's story in fact. Upon entry to Charlotte's house, I was confronted by hordes of children charging around attempting to sack the place, as if they were Visgoths looting Rome. One of the little barbarians even attempted to steal my wallet, so received a clout round the ear as compensation.
Myself, I refrained from drinking - unlike a certain party the week before - and instead engaged in hours and hours of "dancing" with various other people. My boyfriend Neil and I spent many a happy time gyrating on the floor whilst others looked on (in disgust I might add) as if they somehow found bisexuality wrong in some way. I can recall a number of lower-now-upper sixth stripping in tune to various songs, everyone jumping, sweating and writing in a seething mass orgy of teenage adrenaline. It seemed to last for quite some time, until the stereo overheated and gave up.
Eventually, events calmed down. People, either those too tired or too incapacitated to remain vertical any longer, sat down and engaged in light conversation for the rest of the evening. Others, being far too drunk for their own good, paired off and proceeded to suck the life blood out of each others faces. I myself was unfortunate enough to look around upstairs, searching for the person I was supposed to be looking after on the way home, only to come across my best friend in bed with her boyfriend. Well no harm done; she was fully clothed, but strangely had no underwear on.
Pity my poor, idiotic yeargroup peers. Mr. Rufus Thompson, once part of our proud contingent and now pierced in many places, who thought it was amusing to keep pushing himself over into a rosemary bush until he smelt like car freshener. Mr. Ben Ross, who attempted to have his drunken way with at least three girls that night (Miss Ria Stream was most upset by his drunken groping.) Miss Emily Best, who it was rumoured broke something as per usual, this time a window. I doubt these people, or any of the other drunken cadets I hastened to part company with as soon as possible, remember much beyond drinking, vomiting and drinking some more.
So I finally left at one, with a fairly tipsy and talkative MIss Stream to deliver home. Personally, I believe she would have been more suited to staggering around on a certain Cornwall beach, but not everyone reads the newspapers the morning after.
Cdt. L/Cpl Peter Wright.
Note: All spelling and grammatical mistakes unedited
Right ok...On the way to Charlottes.. Kirsty and I were running slightly late, NO FUCKING BUSES, (sorry though I might have a slight dig at London Transport then!), well you know how it is. Makeup shoes, it all takes time, especially the shoes kirsty and I were wearing! And then 2 our amazement and shock guess who gets on our bus, none other than Gen and Ria, our two favourite galz! So we arrive in Sutton. Go 2 the station 2 pick up our bus, yes me and Kirsty are VERY lazy. But Tess turns up, so Ria and Gen decide to walk with her. Tess was armed with trainers and waterproof, so Kirsty and I decided 2 wait 4 the bus. (Hello?! Our hair and feet needed saving!) So we wait and wait for the S1, while we wait we got accosted by some smelly wanabee rudeboys, who asked for names and numbers, to whom I replied, "I'm a lesbian, u repulse me" which to my surprise, he didn't believe. They then followed us, and got on the same bus, but then we jumped off at Albion Road. We walk up the road expecting to be fairly early, and when we arrive we hear the faint screams of little annoying children. We enter. Children run beneath are feet, and feeling slightly lost, we make our way into the kitchen to find everyone. I immediately start to get trashed, as I thought it was the only option I had!! I proceeded to drink hefty amounts of alcohol mixing everything and everything. Memories of Upper 6th arriving, and me and Gen going crazy, and Matt wearing the horns and bearing a wand...slightly worrying.
I only seem to remember a small proportion of the party, and some stuff, well some stuff you just can't know about...
After screaming, "Where's Kirsty? I have to find kirsty" several times, I proceeded to fall over, (again) and break something (again!) this time window...Sorry Charlotte! Her mum made me giggle, "Don't worry the house is getting knocked down anyway!". I got blood all over my Ted Baker, which my mum is STILL puzzled about. Then somehow we got back to Kirstys, went to sleep, woke up at 6AM feeling fine and dandy. I slowly drifted back into sub consciousness.. Waking up at 9AM..Thinking "OMG WHAT HAVE I DONE?" My head was pounding; Kirsty and I were feeling slightly delicate. I then ran upstairs and threw up in her toilet; but oh no, it was just sick, I was being sick blood, yes blood. That is something I never wish on anyone. After being sick several more times, I managed to stagger into her mum's car and be driven home. Kirsty thought it would be funny to cook some toast and plaster it with peanut butter...that made me hurl some more too. I managed to drag myself up my drive way and back to bed. Proceeding to hurl some more. Then I had 2 go 2 work 4 7 hours, being sick at least every hour, my boss found it hilarious and decided to put me on the BBQ where obscenely amounts of fatty foods are cooked. I shall never drink again...well not for a while anyway. Images of that party are still coming back to me, none of which are good!
EMILY BEST.
Peter's Opinion: Underage drinking is a terrible sin. Unless, like in this case, when it provides a cheap source of comedic amusement.
Nim Joe da Man's Party - My version of events
Strange memories on this nervous night in Epsom. Five weeks of partying? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a main era - the kind of peak that never comes again. The drunken summer of 2004 was a very special time and place to be part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.
I had nothing, other than a burning humidity and a desire to eat as much as possible. Picked up Ria, sitting on a fence in East Sutton. We talked all the way to the station - that is to say, she talked and I politely listened. She hadn't stopped talking since I found her earlier in the afternoon, rolling and puffing on the weed dragon in Manor Park. Once you get into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The effects were still on me, hours of hazy smoke filtering through my drug-addled brain.
Twenty minutes after the supposed time, they were all there: Pearson, Neel, Faye, Emily, Gen et al. I was drawn into a terrifying conversation, peppered with horror films, the worst sexual accidents, various websites and home-made German pornography. Lucky was I to step off the train and part company, to find a few of my ex-friends loitering outside the station. Being too desperate for alternative company, I allotted to walk with them, an epic trek down Hook Road in the burning midsummer's heat.
What was I doing here? What was the meaning of this trip? Was I just roaming around in a drug frenzy of some kind? Or had I really come out here to Epsom to work on a story? Who are these people, these faces? Where do they come from? They look like caricatures of adults, painfully drawn and skewed so as to be a mixture of adult and child, maturity and immaturity, knowing and innocence. One minute they sit down, nibbling on hot dogs and engaging in delicate conversation; the next, jumping around on a bouncy castle with all the carefree bliss of an LSD trip.
To start with, there was none. Then it came. Ah, devil alcohol. It makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early Irish novel. Total loss of all basic motor function. Blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue. The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column. Which is interesting because you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can't control it. Couple this with the red and yellow absurdity of a bouncy castle, and you have a recipe for greatness. With bottle in one hand and burger in the other, I joined in.
Then it hit me. Jesus, bad waves of paranoia, madness, fear and loathing - intolerable vibrations in this place. Get out. The weasels are closing in. I could smell the ugly brutes. Flee. The ride home was quick.
Panic. It crept up my spine like first rising vibes of an acid frenzy. There I was. Alone in Sutton, completely twisted on drugs and alcohol, no cash, no story for the website, and on top of everything else, a gigantic god damned boss to deal with the next morning. What would an adult do in this situation?
By Peter.
24th August 04
"Heeeeeey!"
Oh God. No escape. I could have tried walking the other way, or stopped the bus before it drove off any further, but it was too late. Emily Best had bounded over the road looking for someone to take with her. At least she had a map.
Unfortunately, my plan to hang around in the backstreets of the Banstead ghetto for a while couldn't come to frutition, so Emily and I turned up first. It said 'Pearson's House' on the door, which was good, especially since the numbering on the street made absolutely no sense. He said hello, his mum was being polite in an interfering, motherly way, and we made a run for wherever we could go. Which wasn't many places, as most of the house had suffered someone going on a posting spree, sticking 'No Entry' signs all over. There were some nice touches of course, including a gazebo in case of rain, and separate boxes dotted around for bottles or cans. Unfortunately, whilst making a cursory tour of the upstairs toilet facilities, the sign for the bedrooms stated 'Don't even think about it!'
People eventually arrived. Neel made for the BBQ, which he promptly ruined in 20seconds when his soggy burger collapsed in half. Then Dom Yau and Mark Burdette turned up; "Cliiiiive!" I shouted, "Er..." he replied. He loves me. In fact, we spent about half an hour discussing the usual school subjects of Fearnley, embezzling money from Young Enterprise and 'Why not to do psychology for AS level.' That was a major discussion point, AS results. Poor Ben got a B, so he's lost his chance of being Head Boy for another year! And Neel kindly explained why dentistry will be a great career: "Amazing chairs, your assistants are foreign and fit, plus you can look down the tops of whoevers on the chair."
Eventually most people from the ex-L6th were there, and about half of the ex-Year11, plus Emily, Kirsty and Faye running around somewhere. Why wasn't Gen there? We all looked to Nim Joe for that answer, which he obstinately refused to give, but I did get the gist of the rumour (see left.)
Everyone moved inside after a while. The girls took over the TV room to watch the Little Mermaid (and Neel of course, sharing his wisdom on how fit she was in comparison to other Disney characters) and Tess arrived 2 hours late with her Simon. For some reason, Munkie and Sean mixed some diabolical concoction, and I was invited to drink it all in one. I was already pretty full by this time, but as I glugged down the thick, gloopy substance (it tasted like BBQ sauce) I felt like I was going to burst. Seriously. Luckily it all went down, to a lot of rousing cheers.
Obviously I made straight for the toilet after that. Then, migrated to the kitchen to answer Ricky's question as to how many fluid ounces there were in a pint (turned out to be 32 after a lot of measuring and pouring) before moving onto the TV room. It was about 11, time for porn. There was some reality TV show about wannabe porn stars on, so that was good, wholesome fun for half an hour.
I left at 11:30 so I didn't miss the last bus. The whole way back to Sutton I had to tolerate Tess' feeble 'jokes' that involved her pulling faces. And Luke Cunliffe wasn't allowed to drink on the bus! Oh dear...And guess who we spotted at the back? None other than ex-cadet Kim Gogh. Strange coincidences abound.
Food: 7/10 - Couldn't forget the memories of Nim Joe's mum
Drink: 8/10 - Plenty
People: 8/10 - The usual CCF crowd. Gotta love 'em all.
Fun: 5/10 - Average. No bouncy castle!
Peter: 7/10 - I thought it was good, and I liked the idiot signs.
Overall score: 35/50. Scraping a B, so just enough for 6th Form.