My adult life- Chapter 7

It’s funny thinking back on those days, especially the second year of Uni. Depraved, absurd, ridiculous, un-productive are words that spring to mind. The main one though would be immature. I was 19 in second year but it’s apparent now that I was definitely emotionally a few years younger. Not one part of me considered getting a job or doing anything that would be considered adult like. My mind was solely focused on going to the bare minimum of University classes and not missing out on any drinking sessions. I wasn’t the only emotionally flawed person either.

If we weren’t too hungover we would always try and make the popular group circuits class in the Uni on a Thursday night. Aberdeen was to build a huge new sport complex not long after so those classes would stop but thinking back, later on in my Uni career there is barely a hope in hell I would have a chance of making those classes. I was barely sober the night after let along compos mentis enough for exercise. None the less, it was full of good looking women and served as one of the best weekly social events for moving and shaking.

One week I went with Spike and afterwards went to chill at his instead of going home to shower. We got a call from my friend Elmo in Hogwarts asking if we were making one of the lads birthday parties they were hosting. It had completely slipped my mind. However the Birthday boy in question, let’s call him Mr Smee, had a long term girlfriend and her friends promised to be in attendance. So of course I jumped in Spikes shower, quickly washed, put my tracksuit bottoms back on (commando as I couldn’t face the sweaty underwear), my hoody on and headed over to the party looking like I was heading to…well a circuits session.

The party was terrible. Somehow though Mr Smee, who had been sitting holding his girlfriends hand all night, had slipped away with a girl from the party, had sex at hers (she also lived in Hogwarts) and arrived back sweaty without questions. I had sex with her a few weeks later and contracted Chlamydia. Good times. Back to the party though! I left the party…. and walked a Swedish girl home. She wasn’t your typical Swede. Instead of being tall and blonde, she was short and brunetty sort of gingery. She was neither here nor there I would say.

She invited my up for a wine (I never drank wine from a glass back then) but said yes of course. We started drinking and very quickly she said that nothing was on the cards and I needed to know that nothing was going to happen. Didn’t like wine and a promise of no sex but it would have been rude to get up and leave. A bottle of wine later though she jumped on me on when we were on the couch. We went to bed and did everything else but have sex. So there was really plenty of big hands on the cards, just no full house.

I remember waking up in the morning thinking, fuck wine for a living. However, the Swede woke up with the morning horn. When I say the morning horn I mean she was sounding the beacons of Gondor!!! I slipped my finger in the her ring and everything went dark, na only joking. S

So we were all over each other, it was hot. It’s one of the reasons I can remember it. Yet still….and yet still… my penis was acting like one of those inflatable tube men from outside car showrooms. It would get hard for a second but wouldn’t stay. God damn it. Damn it to hell. Undeterred, we were still all over each other and ended up rubbing on each other instead. It was weird. Like two fish on the deck of a salmon boat wishing they were back in the water.  Thrusting around. I think it was the first time I made a woman orgasm but can’t be sure.

Weird night. She messaged me after but I ignored it. Then coincidentally I saw her at circuits quite a bit after and pretended I didn’t see her. It was nothing to do with her (well something) , it was more the embarrassment of my salmon boat dry humping. I think this was an integral moment in my penis woes. I wasn’t that drunk compared to normal and yet still I couldn’t fire on all cylinders. It was a mental thing, like getting stage fright in the men’s toilet. I also had that.

It also meant condoms were not my best friend.  So when I finally managed to get my penis hard enough, I contract Chlamydia from Mr Smee’s previous conquest. What was I saying about emotionally intelligence?

My adult life- Chapter 6

After a week or two in the new flat we finally got round to furnishing it. My flatmate and I both raided our parents’ attics and managed to kit it out quite well. It’s worth mentioning that we were paying a very reasonable amount for this flat in no small part down to the fact it came unfurnished. Although the kitchen was tiny both bedrooms were a reasonable size and the toilet had a fairly handy shower that was perfect for sitting down in when hungover. Aberdeen was second only to London in UK rent prices at the time so we ended up staying there for two years in the end, even paying rent for a summer that we were barely there. The only down side was my bed was one half of my childhood bunk bed, probably just smaller than your average single. It was hardly ideal for wooing the young free and single ladies of Aberdeen. Especially when they saw my Manchester United bed spread. I think it was from the 1993/94 season and had the players’ names from the time scrolled across the pillow case.

Gossiping friend- “What was the guys flat like?”

Casual acquaintance- “He had the names Brain McClair and Pat McGibbon plastered all over his pillow”

Considering this was 2007 what the fuck was I thinking?

None the less I was having a blast. I was very rarely in the flat unless I was sleeping until 2 in the afternoon. The rest of the time I would go straight to a friend’s flat from Uni and started the gym three times a week with a couple of mates. We didn’t make much progress though as gym days were also drinking days.

For the sake of argument I’m going to call my friends flat Hogwarts. Little did I know at the time but it would be the scene of so much of my University debauchery and hi-jinks. It was rented by my friend Mufasa and had two other flat mates who also became friends of mine. Mufasa would remain in that flat until the end of our 4th year and undergraduate graduation with various flat mates throughout the three years (We will get to that later). The best thing about Hogwarts though was the fact it was still student housing. It was one of those companies that specialised in groups of students but had nothing to do with the University and was essentially a nice block of flats. It was built in one large square with a car park in the middle. A lot of my friends stayed there throughout the years so I had even more reason to spend my time at Hogwarts. You could just go from one friends to another’s in seconds. It was also much nearer the Uni than my flat and I could never be arsed walking home for dinner then back to Hogwarts to be social.  The icing on the cake was the bewildering fact that the occupants never paid a deposit. I think they paid some sort of fee that was never going to be returned so no-one had any qualms lighting a firework or kicking a football around indoors. God I fucking loved that place.

I had only just started getting to know Mufasa mainly through knowing Spike but he was also in some of my Biomed classes. Therefore my time spent in Hogwarts gradually increased as I got to know him better and get closer to a different group of friends than I did the previous year. This group would expand and become my closest friends to this day.

The nights got gradually worse in terms of folly and by the time our first term was breaking up for Christmas and exams, our alcohol tolerance was at an all-time high. My favourite night was always Monday. Instead of Liquid it was a club called Tiger Tiger. Two floors again with a VIP room on the ground floor and a bar round every corner. Tiger Mondays we called them (genius).

One Tiger Monday I ended up going back with a Fresher to the halls of residence in the centre of the Uni. It was the first occurrence where I couldn’t erect the monument due to over indulgence of alcohol. This was to be repeated on an almost weekly basis for the next three years (not the girl but the erectile dysfunction). We ended up lying in bed listening to the Spice Girls. What a fall from grace.  We fell asleep with Wannabe on repeat and I ended up quite emotionally attached to that song. Intercourse was attempted again in the morning, this time in the shower but it was not to be. After I went home later that morning a friend called and asked me about her. It turns out they were friends and he was trying to court her (nice way to put it). They became a couple the next day I believe and stayed in a serious relationship for two years or something. Crazy. I must have put her off the single life. It transpires that she had also slept with another friend of ours that summer during the pre-term summer school. That was the thing about Aberdeen Uni. It was like pass the parcel.

Put it this way. At one point in the midst of a long bout of depravity Spike went with his flat mate to the sexual health clinic.

Flatmate- “I would like to be tested please for Chlamydia”

Woman at reception” Ok do you have reason to believe you have Chlamydia?”

Flatmate- “Yes”

Woman at reception- “What’s the reason?”

Flatmate- “My friend had sex with a woman and contracted Chlamydia. I have recently had sex with the same woman.”

Woman at reception turns to Spike- “Ok then… why are you here?”

Spike- “I have also recently had sex with that woman”

The thing is, I’m sure all these women were saying the same things about us. This isn’t all about male bravado. Far from it. I also went home with that woman several times over second and third year and not once was I able stand my soldier to attention. Although this was common place I like to think that my knowledge of her previous companions stuck in my sub-conscious. Actually that can’t be it. I was about to do much worse…

My adult life- Chapter 5

After a long summer running care-free, arms spread around the hills of Scotland, with the wind blowing through my curly, not yet receding, hair it was back to the daily vodka grind of Uni life.

It had been a sober summer all told. A month before I started University I had a fairly serious operation to repair my shoulder so the resultant “fairly serious” rehab never really took off. Thus my first University summer was spent in the gym. It also meant that I was revitalized. The unexciting summer made for an exciting return.

I was moving into my first proper flat with a friend from the previous years halls of residence. We landed a cheap unfurnished 2 bedroom flat near the centre of town but a solid walk away from Uni. He was in a long term relationship and therefore slightly less eager to piss his days away. It also meant I was home alone for most of freshers week and the flat remained unfurnished for the first 10 days or so but for one large sofa.

Freshers that year really began where first year left off. With my flat being somewhat unusable another friend’s parents had bought him a fairly plush pad even closer to Aberdeen city centre. That would be our pre-drink haven. By the end of first year our drink of choice was a pint of Vodka with lemonade and Robinson’s fruit squash. If you are un-familiar with this brand of squash it’s basically Great Britain’s national drink for children. Our choice of flavour was Lemon (which really complemented the lemonade).  For the first month or two we continued with this concoction. The problem was that we were increasing the amount of Vodka and decreasing the mixer to the point it was about two thirds vodka. That’s all good and well but the resultant effect was I regularly had no memory whatsoever of anything that happened. The silver lining was I could sleep in the freezing cold, unfurnished flat much easier but had no idea what I have been getting up to.

On one of these nights I do remember meeting one lucky lady on the dance floor of Liquid (the nightclub not a metaphor). I have no idea what her name was. I don’t think it has left my memory, I never actually knew it. After getting well acquainted on the dance floor we headed back to her sisters flat. It transpires she was simply visiting her older sister who was starting one of her final years at Uni and was somewhat protective. When we arrived a small argument ensued between the sisters involving the flat mates bed. Basically the visiting sister was under strict orders to stay on the couch as the flat mate who was not in the city at the time was unwilling to let their bed go to good use. Can’t blame them really. We were urged onto the couch while the older sister went to her bed and after 20 minutes of first base courting we slipped off to the flat mates vacated bedroom. The older sister was probably not asleep but what was she going to do? Walk in? Also she had given us a condom. I mean the couch was alright but there was no room for two.

I didn’t take us long to get down to business and start putting the bed to good use. As we started getting into it she started getting more aggressive and throwing her self around with me in tow. I should explain at this point that she was larger than me. By no means would you call this girl fat but I also wouldn’t call her skinny either. I was definitely skinny though. Not like it matters but she was calling the shots.

I had her squashed up against the wall before I threw her back onto the body of the bed. At least I thought it was the bed. Her head cracked off the top off the headboard. It was the back of her head as well. It sounded and looked awful. Probably the closest I’ve ever been to killing a person. It was like the end of Million Dollar Baby. We tried carrying on for a while but as I looked at her face I was becoming increasingly despondent. She was clearly still in pain and no doubt concussed. Looking back there is about 20% of me thinking I had sex with an unconscious woman for at least a few seconds. Never the less, we finally called it a day and moved back to the couch where we both passed out one on top of the other, tired, injured and unfulfilled.

The next thing I remember, it was morning and the older sister was dragging me from the couch out the front door. Aggression clearly runs in the family. She was yelling some pish, frankly I was too inebriated to fully comprehend what was happening. Next thing I know, I’m out the door and on the street. I never said bye to the girl, or got her number or even asked what her name was but hopefully she suffered no repercussions to that head knock. Luckily I recognised where I was and It was a simple 5 minute walk home. This however would be the first of many occasions where I would walk home the morning after the night before at the same time the schools were going in. Obviously my new flat was next door to a primary school. By the time I left that flat I’m pretty sure the children were singing nasty songs about me.

Once I sobered up it quickly dawned on me that my Uni virginity had gone. It may have gone in first year but no-one knows (except maybe the girl who stole the watch) but this was the first confirmed home run. It wasn’t great, I nearly killed her and I was thrown out by her sister but it was a monkey off my back. Second year was up and running. All I needed now was some furniture in the flat and I could start gaining some momentum.

My adult life -Chapter 4

As first year began to wind down I couldn’t have been happier. New friends, new women, basically new life. The excessive drinking was becoming more fun each time with my youthful enthusiasm easily trumping prospective hangovers. I remember visiting home one weekend and a friend asking if the reputation of Borderers being big drinkers was justified.It wasn’t. It doesn’t matter if you are a geek, a gym freak, a virgin or a playboy.  If you binge drink between 4 and 7 days a week then that’s big drinking. It’s nothing to be proud of (ok I’m a little proud) but most sociable people at Uni would drink more in one week than anyone working a full time job would in one month. Going out every Saturday night is childs-play in comparison.

Sadly, for my 5 years at Uni I couldn’t shake that thought process. I constantly wanted to better each story, out do each adventure, make each night more crazy and another one for the record books. At that age, it meant drinking and having sex more than other people. Many of my Uni friends also held this notion, as you will see later on. First year though was still about finding my feet. The stories were more Walt Disney than Ronny Wood. However, I was becoming more confident in pushing the boundaries of ridiculousness.

After a night clubbing for a friends birthday just as summer was approaching, a bunch of us hopped a wall or two and started exploring Aberdeen Football Stadium. It goes without saying that the primary reason you do when break into a football stadium is… to piss on the goal line.

Aberdeen fan “Wow great save”

Me “Ha, he’s rolling in my piss”

As I say, more Walt Disney than Ronny Wood…

I also found a football and started kick it around the pitch and scored the obligatory goal. I’m pretty sure I was Aberdeen’s joint top goal scorer that season. While all this was going on, one of the other lads decided to climb one of the floodlights…one handed…while filming it on his phone. If that wasn’t bad enough, when he got to the top and ran out of ladder,  he started to climb the actual lights…one handed…while filming it on his phone. As stupid as it was, it did make for a great video. There was a family of nesting birds at the top who got the fright of their lives, they weren’t the only ones.

I would go back to Pittodrie several teams over the years. A couple of times to watch sport, most of the time not. The goal line was looking pretty lush by the time I left.

First year was coming to an end though. Exams were over and went much like the winter exams, just with slightly less people acing them while on cocaine. The drinking continued until slowly people started to drift home for the holidays. I was looking forward to going home and resting my liver. One other thing that people also don’t think about is that amount of clothes you need for that level of partying. If you go out 4 times a week, you have to use the same shirts, jeans etc all the time. Not easy when they are covered in spilled drinks, vomit or in some cases, stale jizz. There was many a fashion fopah. Add that to the vomit coloured hair, it was maybe good to go home and reflect on things for a few months.

It was hard leaving halls. Everyone was around each other 24/7, you would just walk out your door and something would be going on. I would’t miss being on a ground floor with a broken window however. I spent more time clearing away tree branches and leaves from my room than I did packing my bags. Moving into a real flat would also mean no more launderette’s or food halls and a more respectable place to partake in liaisons of the sexual nature.  Therefore in my head, your own place meant big pimpin. In reality, I moved into an unfurnished flat then used the bottom half of my childhood bunk bed rather than splash out on a new one.

That bed was going to see some things. Second year was about to turn it up a notch.

My adult life -Chapter 3

By around Easter time I had made a fair few friends and my liver had taken a pasting. I had succeeded in “pulling” a few lady peeps but had about as much sexual action as Sheldon Cooper. I would fall asleep, they would fall asleep, I would be too drunk, they would be too drunk. There was a multitude of causes with the same conclusion.

One night in particular, I fell asleep on top of a girl.  It was a relatively common occurrence actually and would continue to be so for many years to come but this one was different. I started chatting her up at a party in the self catered flats at my halls and in the quest for more booze we stumbled across the host crushing up some sort of pill in his room. Not being one to partake in such activities it normally wouldn’t get my attention but the host quickly informed us they were run of the mill sleeping pills.

Host “Yea man, sleeping pills are crazy when you’re drunk!!” They are actually quite dangerous!” Go on, take half each!”

We took half each.

The question still remains. Did this guy see two naive freshers and trick them into taking something dodgy? Or did he actually give us half a sleeping pill each?

Further still. Why the fuck did I think taking half a sleeping pill was going to “get the party started”? Maybe like all students I was wanting to rebel but wasn’t wanting to dabble in drugs so this seemed apt. Whichever it was, it was a ridiculous thing to do. Put it down as a poor drunken decision.

Anyway that was my last memory. I should actually say the second last. My last memory was being back in my room semi naked, straddling the girl and rubbing her tits.

I’m 99.9% sure I then fell head first into the pillow of cleavage and fell asleep with my mouth open. It does coincide with the dubious, half a sleeping pill taken an unknown amount of time earlier notion.The next morning I woke up alone and very confused. Not only that, I woke up on top of a very expensive looking watch. Nightmare scenario! After the confusing and highly embarrassing end to the previous night the last person you want to see is that girl, never mind being angry about the loss of her watch. Luckily for me, our student halls were very confined so it was more than likely I would see her in passing very soon. By very soon, it turned out to be 2 hours. A group of us started playing soft ball in the neighboring park. LOW AND BE FUCKING HOLD, Tits Mcgonegal shows up.

“Oh hey, how you feeling? I think you left your watch at mine by the way?”

Tits Mcgonegal “Eh na, thats not mine”

I’m now even more confused and increasingly concerned.

Tits Mcgonegal ” I steal stuff when I’m drunk. Just keep it. I also stole a bracelet from yours when I left.”

My panic went down a notch with the relief that I wasn’t the one who stole the watch or that some other girl was back in my bed and I couldn’t remember. The confusion then returned along with the realization that this chick was missing a few screws and I was missing a cheap plastic bracelet thing that I liked to wear to make me look retro and cool.

“Yea, you can keep the bracelet.”

Needless to say I went back with Tits Mcgonegal again in second year. This time it was her flat. Even more drunk, we were lying on her bed when she decided to leave the room for something. Shortly after, the room started spinning and I quickly turned over and spewed on her floor. With the light safely turned off I then got up and walked out of the flat, leaving her to find the spew (I hope) by the virtue of her bare feet. If the guy who’s watch she stole is reading this, I got your back brother, revenge is a dish best served regurgitated on a bedroom floor! Oh and I also have your watch!

Tits Mcgonegal wasn’t an exception. I had another girl very keen on me who my friends then labelled “stalker bird”. Her and a friend kept going up to them and talking about me in a very surreal, 12 year old girl passing notes in the classroom sort of way.

I would later have sex with both of those girls. To be honest, everyone ended having sex with both of those girls. Two of my friends even double teamed one and kept gloating about the fact that they could feel each other prodding through different orifices. None the less both of these girls will feature later on on the story so I will not go into depth now (ahem).

The upside to all this, was the obvious fact that living around so many girls the same age who were partying non stop and wanting to make naive, lowbrow mistakes was going to provide yours truly with much more opportunities to do the dirty than living at home. For that reason alone University was a success. Who could argue? I just needed to move from the Sheldon Cooper phase (missing obvious advances) to the Russell Brand phase. Well, even the Howard Wolowitz phase would be a start. One day I was so hungover in a Pizza Hut toilet that I stood under the condom machine for a whole minute trying to dry my hands. Symbolism personified.

In hindsight, I should have bought the condoms…

My adult life -Chapter 2

After a month or 2 my freshers year started to truck along quite nicely. A wee routine had developed:

-Get up at 4pm for a 1 hour long shower to shrug off the hangover and feverishly masturbate.

-Dinner at 5 pm

– Start drinking from around 7pm till late.

Of course drinking only really accounted for 4 or 5 nights of the week. The others were reserved for cinema trips, youthful folly and miscellaneous. Classes were never an issue either. A couple of mandatory practicals a week were the only blemishes on an otherwise flawless diary. There were meant to be 3 lectures a day but unless there was a register, then it’s a sure as hell fire I never went. In fact, I did get pulled in by some attendance commissioner for not appearing in class but my unrivaled ability to dig my way out of holes came to the fore.

Times were good. I was making friends, gaining confidence, growing up and walking around pretty chuffed with my endeavors. Armed with a meaty student loan and no-one telling me what to do the world was my Oyster. In hindsight though, I simply see that time as a period of rapid growth. I did many cringe worthy, embarrassing things and immaturity was still much of what I was about.

Bored one night me and a couple of mates went to a girls room we knew in one of the cell blocks. The door was open but no-one at home. Like any cold blooded 18 year old would do we decided to hide, wait for her to come back then giver her a fright ( In my 18 year old head I thought this was courting),

The downside was, hiding places were hard to come by in a tiny little cell/room. Thinking well and truly inside the box, one went into the wardrobe, one under the bed covers and myself under her desk. The problem was, she wasn’t 3 years old. She would see someone under her duvet, me under the desk and the wardrobe had to much stuff in it. The plan was in tatters. However, In a moment of fleeting genius we figured out that if we emptied some of her clothes and threw them on the bed then there would be enough room in the wardrobe and the guy under the covers would just look like a pile of clothes. That’s the kind of intellect that got us into Uni in the first place. We then managed to pile a bunch of her random folders and junk into a wall for me to hide behind under the desk. All the pieces were coming together. All this effort for 2 seconds of possible hilarity. Anyway, we waited…

5 minutes went by, then 10, then 15.

Wardrobe friend “I’m so hot, I’m sweating all over her stuff. Where the fuck is she?”

Me “I don’t know, my back hurts and I’m bursting on a piss”

Bed friend “This is the best wank I’ve ever had!!”

Eventually a mutual friend came by also looking for her.

Me “Oi it’s us”

Mutual friend “What the fuck happened in here?”

Me ” We are waiting to give her a fright”

Mutual friend ” She will get a fright when she says what you have done to her room!!”

Eventually he texts her and it transpires she had just started watching a film in a friends room. Giving up, we attempted to ram all of her clothes back into the wardrobe after having some fun trying them on. We then left and went about our night.

From the eyes of the girl: She left her room, went to a friends for a nice chilled movie night then comes back a couple of hours later to find the place trashed to all fuck, her clothes stretched, lying in a pile in front of the wardrobe and the place smelling of BO.

That night was the second time I had inadvertently ruined a girls room. The fire had been lit a couple of weeks earlier by spewing in that girls bucket and malting pubes all over her bathroom. Now sober I was continuing the trend. A trend that would get so horribly out of control. This is the reason I remember that story so vividly. Nights of childish hi-jinx were to turn much more disgusting a couple of years down the line as I grew older with time.

For now though the innocence was still pure and the drinks were still flowing. The routine rarely deviated during that first winter at Uni. One morning I was awoken by half a tree getting thrown on top of me. Several of my friends had found out the lock on my ground floor cell window was broken so for the second half of first year I rarely returned to my room without their being some sort of anomaly.  The only downside was taking I girl back to the room;

“Why is there a large dead tree in your room?”

“Where is your mattress?”

“Where is everything you own?”

Those were a few of the questions I faced when entertaining. Looking back, if I was a friend I would have just set up a video camera facing the bed or had some chains hanging from the bed posts. That would have been much harder to explain. I did get my own back on one friend though when we manged to pile up some junk and climb into his first floor window. Naturally I decided to piss in his kettle and boil it. Not great for any student keen on noodles. I doubt boiled piss is even that unhealthy but none the less we ended up swapping.

Eventually one of the lads actually managed to gain access to an un-occupied room. For some reason the 3 blocks of catered halls (jail cells) had a system where every key would access 2 locks. It just so happens one of those was in between two of my friends rooms. The room got emptied (I stole the mattress to have in reserve) while in general it got used as the ‘go too weed smoking room.’  This took the idea of breaking into rooms out of the spotlight and meant all the stoners could get stoned together without fear of their possessions getting thrown out the window.

A midst all the tomfoolery a couple of us auditioned for Big Brother. We got no where but was yet another stepping stone on my own personal new found confidence and lease of life. There were also exams in the middle of first year just to keep everyone on their toes. Two of my modules were a breeze and easily passed with knowledge from high school but my Achilles heel was chemistry.

I had never studied it past standard grade in school and went to none of the lectures so it was to be some what of a stumbling block. I did go to the compulsory practicals with mixed results. They were always on a Tuesday which meant a hangover. If there is anything on this fucking planet you do not want to do on a hangover,  it’s lab experiments with Ethanol.  I remember having to run out of class one day, not to spew but drop a deuce.

Whenever I need to drop a deuce in a  public place I will always use the disabled toilet (shame on me). This time, in my haste I never locked the toilet properly and to add sweet, sweet icing onto the cake, the toilet was directly facing the door.

Now I’ve used many a disabled toilet in my days and this is the only occasion a disabled person has ever, EVER needed to use one at the same time!

Midway through this gut wrenching hangover induced Cleveland steamer, a man on a wheelchair slowly begins to open the door and roll his way in, solemnly unveiling me like the two hundred and fifty thousand pound box on deal or no deal. As soon as our eyes meet he panics, lets go of the door and jams his wheelchair between the door and the wall.

Disabled guy “You should have locked the door!”

Me “I thought I did!”

There was an awkward silence. Not only that, but we were now conducting this conversation while I was still sitting on the toilet, trousers at my ankles. He eventually tries to reverse out but he was unable, his wheelchair was caught on the handle or something, I don’t fucking know. It was an unmitigated disaster. He was stuck!

After a few deeply disturbing seconds more, it was obvious that I really needed to get up and help him out. It was the least I could do! I guy In a god damn wheelchair was stuck in the door of the toilet and I was sitting watching with my pants down.

But think about it, what the fuck was I actually meant to do?? Just get up and start wiping my arse directly in front of him while he had no choice but to watch? Stand up and shuffle over? I had already lost all morality and dignity but simply using a toilet not built for a healthy mans arse. The one toilet this poor disabled, middle aged man could use in the giant labyrinth that was the chemistry department and he couldn’t go because a hungover, decrepit student with an outrages yellow afro was currently parked on it and causing a smell of satanic proportions. Not only all of that…!!!!  He was now about to get up and WIPE HIS FILTHY ARSE, cock and balls dangling away, just a couple of meters in front of his helpless, innocent eyes. Jesus wept. Add to all that, the door was obviously half open. Any eventual passer by would stop and see a disabled my stuck in a door, try to assist then look up to see me wiping my arse in front of him. Oh did I mention the smell? yea? Ok, well it was bad. I was also sweating heavily.

Literally one second before I was about to get up he managed to free himself and reverse out. If there is a God, that is the moment he thought “Fuck this I’m stepping in here.”

When I walked out the door the man had gone. The embarrassment must have been more overwhelming than his need for the toilet. I should have just finished all the toilet roll and cemented my place in hell.

This escapade was just anther reason to hate chemistry. A couple of weeks later me and my mate Spike (my friends who will repeatedly appear in these stories have been giving names from Disney films) got into trouble because we had to leave due to severe hangovers. The Russian woman who gave out the lab equipment went a bit Joseph Stalin and threatened to throw us off the course but the head lecturer sympathized and we were let off once again.

Spike managed to rub salt in the wound by turning up to the actual exam hungover. He went drinking with one of the other lads the night before. The other lad then turned up having not slept a wink. He had went back to some chicks flat and started bumping cocaine before losing his virginity.  He aced the exam though. In fact they both got exceptionally high scores whereas I passed by a whisker and I was the sober one. Lesson learned…

Once the first set of annual exams were passed it was back to alcohol and shenanigans. There were more awful situations to get myself in. About 4 more years of awful situations to be precise.

My adult life -Chapter 1

As mentioned in a previous post I still have to write the final chapter of my time in Africa. Ironically, for that reason I thought now is the best time to start on something I have been wanting to do for a long, long, loooooonnnng time. In a nutshell this “something” is a tell all, dig a hole, take myself up the creek step by step account of my adult life so far. Effectively at this point, it’s just a brutally honest account of my time a University. Thusly, scripting my final account of my time in Africa after these posts can somewhat show how far I have come since my arrival in Aberdeen on a mild September Saturday, 2 weeks after my 18th Birthday.

I knew close to no-one and I had never set foot in Aberdeen in all my puff. I was relatively shy and still recovering from a shoulder operation when my parents dropped me off at my catered halls of residence. Catered halls meant you stayed in jail cell type rooms but you had breakfast and dinner paid for. For me this was a grand opportunity to meet people, which I did. I met my first group of mates in the dinner que not one hour after my parents left me in life limbo. It was lucky to be honest. Looking back, I was frustratingly timid back then. I wasn’t enjoying life that much and it was all a bit placid and lukewarm. I cannot imagine where I would be now if I never fucked off to Uni, came out my shell, got my end away and met my close friends.That being said. Coming out of said shell…was a drunkenly sobering experience.

Alcohol. Lots of it. At least 4 nights a week. In Aberdeen, although it changed throughout the years, nights out were every Monday,Wednesday,Friday and Saturday. Often there would be Tuesday and/or Thursday thrown in. Generally just a shit tonne of fun for an 18 year old.

In the first few days of Freshers week I died my hair yellow and my ridiculous Anchorman sideburns red. Doing that seemed mental, I showed everyone I was up for anything, Stuff legends are made of…

Aye right. I looked like a right idiot! My thick wavy curly hair dyed vomit yellow. Sweet Jesus. At least it gave me character.

So much character that Radio 1 duo Chappers and Dave took me up on stage in front of a capacity club and made me sing off with some girl that had worryingly severe cellulite. I won the sing off and got to kiss Dave, but in truth there were no winners that night. That club was called Liquid and would be the scene of many a drunken antic. In the 4/5 years I spent at Aberdeen University, a great deal of my time was spent in Liquid. Wednesday night was the big night out there and you could give or take a Friday or any other night of the week throughout the years. It had two floors with the bottom floor split in two giving it a “VIP” section. The rest of that floor consisted of a fairly large dance floor and two bars. The upstairs was smaller and concentrated on cheesy music for when people wanted to get nostalgic.

As the first few weeks progressed I was still making good inroads into pulling as many woman as I could even with my war torn curly hair. One night that didn’t involve Liquid, we were back at halls and had an impromptu shindig at a friend of a friends self catered flat. This friend of a friend happened to be fucking beautiful. She was a real doozy and for some time the best looking girl I nearly had sex with.

In the middle of the party she dragged me to her room and unveiled a bottle of that knockoff 80% Absinthe. We had a couple of shots each and the next thing I know she is in her underwear. To this day I still remember that body (which is kind of wrong).

Life had well and truly peaked. Really it had. Absolutely outstanding norks and tremendous tucas. Then here is me, with my big yellow afro and broad borders accent that no one could understand. Me on the bed, pie eyed and slightly swaying, her in her lilac underwear, it was like that scene in American Pie where Nadia strips for Jim. Just before he prematurely ejaculates…except I didn’t ejaculate… i threw up.

Mentally I had sunk that Absinthe…physically my body had to either commit to keeping it down or commit to getting blood to my penis. It chose penis. Next thing I know I’m throwing up Team America style into her bucket (not a euphemism!!). Luckily, she was also now taken by the Absinthe and tossed the bucket out of her window before we both passed out. There it was. The origin. The start of a very long trend of me pulling gorgeous woman, going back to theirs and leaving them mentally scarred for life.

Actually, believe it or not I actually got another shot and went back to hers a week later. I successfully managed to completely not have sex that time either. In fact, a couple of years later a friend of her flatmate informed me that she found what was presumed to be one of my freakishly long pubes in the bathroom. Not just that, she ran around the flat with it and then showed it to everyone.Fuck sakes! Doesn’t get much worse than that. Oh wait it does (story to come). I don’t think it was my pube though. My pubes are super curly, she would have to unravel and iron it if it was to ever look long. Especially comically long. I reckon it was just one of my normal hairs, mistaken for a pube (a common occurrence). I think I would have a pretty good case in a court of law.

However embarrassing, she was high caliber and my confidence started to grow. I started to do quite well with the ladies. I was still truly awful at ceiling the deal but I was kissing a lot of woman. High five…anyone…no?

In fairness, much of the time I was too busy having a laugh and joke with people. I remember going into a friends tiny cell once after a night out, preferring to go there than back to a girls flat presumably to malt my pubes all over her bathroom. I walked in to a dozen people stoned off their faces laughing at the thought of an Elephant wearing shoes. Then my friend got so baked he couldn’t move or talk. Instead of calling it a night everyone stared throwing his stuff out his second floor window. What no-one realized was, there was an angry black girl speaking to someone through the window below. Within seconds she got nailed by a suitcase. No-one realized however and by the time she rampaged up to the door she caught us trying to stuff the mattress through the window.

Crazy girl “What the fuck, you mother fuckers. I just got hit on the head by a suitcase and I’m now bleeding”

Stoned guy “We have no idea what you are talking about”


The rest of the guys then drop the mattress on its side and start drumming on it in sync, beating faster and faster as the girls temper rises.

Stoned guy “Ah that was him”

He then points to the clueless occupant who’s nearly stoned unconscious and completely helpless in stopping his possessions getting thrown out the window.

The girl then goes off on one, the poor stoned guy just staring back, completely in his own world. The lack of response or contrition just enraged the girl further. One guy then whispers out loud

“I think he’s a racist”


By this point one guy had either got bored or forgot about the crazy girl and started to try and throw the guy who couldn’t move or talk out the window. Utterly dumbfounded, the girl boiling with rage mentioned something about a knife then ran off to get help. A couple of the more sober guys (including myself) then ran down to pick up the evidence and everyone managed to scarper home.

For around a month after the clueless occupant had to deal with random aggression from people saying they were going to “do him in” unless he apologized. He had no idea  what the fuck went on, he just had some missing stuff. It also transpired that the weed they had been smoking all night had been lased with Acid.

That was a random Monday night at the beginning of my first year at Uni. It was then I started to realize, no-one back home was doing this on a Monday night. Possible stabbings aside, this was just the tip of the iceberg. My time at University was going to be eventful.

There was no way I could imagine just how eventful it would end up being.