Well… we did say we’d be going to a Western Theme Night at the Local… you can see the photos by clicking here

Yee-hah.

Yeah, OK, so it sounds strange… but our local landlord got in the New York Times! We’re not quite sure how he achieved this (we’ll ask him for you)… but it’s got something to do with his dodgy Satellite telly with it’s Arabic Subtitles…

Check out what the Big Man had to say here at NYTimes.com - just click the ’skip this ad’ in the top right to get to the main article.

This week, whilst Vince was down, we found the best thing we’ve seen coming out of the pub at 11.30 ever. A sweet shop. A real sweet shop. We’re still not quite sure why the 92 year old owner was open at such an hour (he insisted it was to stop him going mad), but at the end of the day, where else can you get a quarter* of aniseed balls at that time of night. Legend!

*(to any political correct nutters out there, just pretend we asked for it in grams, ok?)

Well, its been a while since we got drunk. Infact, just over a week. Admittedly the LowerFlat’s exploits in Petersfield are, at the moment, unrecorded, namely because we couldn’t quite remember exactly what happened, and then endured a matching set of 2 day hangovers. Ouch.

However, since Petersfield had been to celebrate the end of Rich’s exams, it only seemed fair that since Jim, Ross and Mark all had their final (and infact only) exam that a few beers were had in celebration. We were joined on the occasion by Paul ‘Mr’ Hayford, who for those of you who where paying attention joined us and Jean-Pierre the Polar bear on our visit to Calais back in December.

Jim met Mr H off the train shortly after the end of the exam for a couple of pints in Gunwharf and then moved on to Tequila Vodka Redbull in Tiger Tiger before Phil K joined for an inpromptu trip over to the Isle Of Wight. Only, we discovered on arrival that there wouldn’t be a ferry back for at least an hour, so got straight back on the boat. Thank goodness for cans of Fosters.

The intrepid travellers met the rest of the group at Apsley House where Mark was a little worse for wear making some rather amusing demands of Lucy having just Seven-Balled her at Pool. Meanwhile as the Cider began to flow, it seemed that Gubbs and Rich were going to settle the LowerFlat Pool Challenge following on from last time’s 1-1 draw. Before we can continue though, we have to include a message from Gubbs for Legal Reasons:

Just remember, when you put this on the website to point out that I beat Rich… which means he lost.

Which should make it blatantly obvious by now that Gubbs was infact victorious in what had previously been called the ‘deciding game’… which seems to have also resulted in the rules being changed to include more games.

Before too long, Mark and Gubbs left Apsley House to join Ross and a few others at Tange whilst the rest of us finished our drinks and returned home… which for Phil just happened to be London… Jim and Paul arrived home a little later having gone walkabout down the seafront to find Mark in the kitchen in a somewhat inebriated state and attempting to consume small chunks of cheese. After convinving Mark that calling his girlfriend at 1am was not the best of ideas he conceded to go to sleep.

Not that anyone got much sleep. Ross rolled in around 3am with Gobble and a still un-named 3rd man, and proceeded to spend most of the next 3 hours treating the rest of the house (and no doubt the neighbours) to a selection of music… and try and Jim, Rich and Mark could, there was no shutting him up. Revenge was served a little later when Ross awoke on the sofa (with no cushions), on enquiring why he wasn’t in bed the answer was quite simple…

“I think there are two men in my bed…”

… another night out for the residents of Chetwynd Road then…

Well, on Wednesday 2nd Feb, we went to Petersfield. We got drunk. Very drunk. There’s not much point in watching a full account of all this - we quite simply don’t remember… so, heres a few choice cuts…

• 5 pints…
• Followed by 3 bottles of Wine in our first visit to the Folly Wine bar
• The Wine Bar’s rather strange toilet arrangement
• “Lads, I love you”
• Jim forcing Phil to stop the car to attempt to steal a Road Sign which wouldn’t fit in the front
• Rich running back to try and get this sign in the back of the car
• Boarding the train home, having nobbled the rest of our bottle of wine and 2 glasses with Jim announcing to other passengers, ‘Yes, we’re drunk’
• 5 pints and 3 bottles of Wine exiting Jim’s system, being photographed by Ross
• The ensuing drunken brawl between Jim and Ross
• The 2 day hangovers

Guess what we did last night… no, really, guess? If you’re thinking we went to a live performance of Beethoven’s finest work - you’d be wrong. If you’re thinking we went to the pub, well, guess what… jackpot!

With Rich finishing an exam at six it didn’t take long before he arrived home demanding Jim’s presence for ‘a quick beer’, and despite a quick debate on whether to accept these demands or not, it wasn’t long before we were trying out the Duke of Devonshire (Albert Road) for the first time. For anyone who’s wondering, it’s just along the road from the sex shop. On the way however we’d decided to call ex-LowerFlat resident Ian ‘Gubbs’ Gubbins to see if he fancied playing a game or two of ‘hide the pint’… we were on this occasion in luck and we agreed to meet at the Duke of Buckingham around 40 minutes later to give Gubbs the time for what he deemed to be quite a necessary shower.

A swift ride in a taxi later we found ourselves at the Duke of Buckingham - thank god really as our Greek taxi driver’s in-car entertainment appeared to be listening to musicals on Radio 3 or 4… not sure which, but it certainly wasn’t at any risk of playing something from the last two decades. Anyway, Gubbs turned up a little after and we settled in for a few games of pool on the 60p a game table (strange amount if you ask us). Suffice to say that after an initial good performance Jim’s playing went tits up and returned to normal, whilst Rich and Gubbs battled it out for LowerFlat Pool Player of the Year. Unfortunately, they reached a 1-1 draw by the time last orders were called, meaning the title’s still up for grabs… until the next time, Ciao!

Good God Shirley, it seems we haven’t written anything on here, in, well, years, so, it’s time to do something about that, and also stop the excessive use of commas in this sentence.

Based on past experience it seems to be a pretty foregone conclusion that whenever Al comes down to visit, there’s usually a vast amount of alcohol involved, and this time was no exception. Fresh from some highly important Navy course, Al arrived in his suit with the appearance of sophistication… a vision soon to be destroyed.

No sooner had Mr P walked into the door there was a beer in his hand and shortly after that Jim managed to knock up dinner in the form of Pork and Chorizo kebabs whilst also managing to knock back a good few glasses of beer. Al and Jim left the house shortly after dinner to obtain a couple of bottles for ‘later on’ before heading off to the first pub of the evening, the Duke Of Buckingham.

Rich and them from the UpperFlat (that’s Mark and Ross to you) joined Al, Jim and Penny in Langtry’s… sorry… The White Horse for another quick drink, before progressing to Apsley House. Rich kicked off the Pool challenge, defeating Jim, Mark, Ross, and just about anyone else in sight. All to soon though last orders were called and everybody headed home via the legendary epicentre that is ‘Charcoal Grill’ for chips in Pita bread - and possibly certain members of the group also stopped to indulge in the sport of ‘urinate on the most expensive car in the street’.

Getting home the bottles of Rum, Kahlua and Southern Comfort were cracked open for a game of snakes and ladders with an alcoholic twist. Al however was somewhat in the mood to ‘dance his ass off’ and dragged Jim out to the Union at 1am for a quick groove before finally giving up and coming home.

But that wasn’t the end of the night… it turned out in the morning that Al had crawled out of Jim’s room and experienced a little encore of the previous night on the floor on his way to the kitchen. Unfortunately, Al had neglected to remember this and the offending pile of vomit was discovered by Jim. When he stepped in it barefoot.

Out for revenge Al was promptly kicked out of bed and given a mop to remove the offending mess, before then continuing to stay in bed feeling fragile for the remainder of the day whilst life carried on as normal for everyone else.

Tuesday evening was a bit insane. Jim was heading back home to say goodbye to someone going back to Australia, and never being one to turn down the chance to try a new pub Rich decided to come along for the ride.

It’s a noticeable fact that as you travel from Portsmouth up towards Somerset, the roads seem to get progressively smaller, until the point where Rich deemed it necessary to concentrate on writing a text on his phone in preference to actually looking out of the front window. Some 2 hours after leaving we rolled up the drive to Jim’s house, into the flat, and very swiftly cracked on with the cider, with Dexter the dog looking on.

Various Australians made guest appearances in the flat to say hi, namely Dave ‘Westy’ West, Joh, and of course Laura - getting very emotional about her last night in the UK. Around 8ish Dave finished work, we piled in the car (Jim in the boot) and set off for the pub. Jim became somewhat concerned from his position in the boot, realising that the direction which we were heading didn’t seem quite right for the pub. Oh shit. Apparently, we were about to go off roading.

Somewhere on a country road about 3 miles from anywhere the car did a sharp right turn, before driving at high speed down a muddy side track in the dark. Bumpy enough to send Jim flying around in the boot. We even managed a few powerslides, and a large crunch we believe may well have been a badger. Thankfully we were soon back on the road and heading for a much needed drink.

The venue of choice was ‘Uncle Tom’s Cider Cabin’, and with a name like that, you knew things were going to be a little dangerous. Ordering a round of ‘the red stuff’ which came to £8.80 for 6 of us (lemonade for the driver). Bargain. Before too long the cider was taking effect, words began to slur and before too long, everyone could understand the accents of all the locals.

One of the more humorous events of the evening was when someone was trying to get hold of Joh’s number from Laura in order to give her a ring, not particularly wanting to speak to this individual it ended up Jim’s number was given out instead and soon after the phone rang, Jim deciding to adopt a slight Somerset accent:

Ello. Who’s zis, I ain’t got yer number
Er, yeah, hi, I think I’ve been given the wrong number?
Ooh rite, sorry to ‘ear that me old mucker. Can I elp?
I’m trying to get hold of a girl called Joh, do you know where she is?
Joe? That’s a proper boy’s name innit? Who’d know a gurl called that?
Never mind, where are you from mate?
Me? I’m from Zomerset, what about you?
Ah, Somerset, do you know Sexey’s School?
Yew wan to do what to me?
No, no, Sexey’s School, in Bruton
Ah, Bruton. I knows Bruton I do, yew mean the school on top of the hill?
Yeah!
Ah well, I knows that, but don’t knows anyone there. I live the ovver end of Zomerset.
Ah right, well sorry to bother you, must have dialled the wrong number.
Not a problem, mind how yew go.

After hanging up, we couldn’t quite hide the hysterics, and before too long Laura had another call from a rather confused bloke trying to find out Joh’s number again. This time it was Jim’s Dad’s turn to field the call, although unfortunately the bloke ringing already has his number. So, this time, Rich’s number was given out, and in the brief break he was instructed to be an over-protective boyfriend. Sure enough, his phone rang.

Hello?
Hi, can I speak to Joh please?
Who’s this?
This is Nick, can I speak to Joh please?
Why would I let you speak to her?
I’m a friend?
Well tough shit mate, I ain’t lettin any other bloke talk to her
You what?
Didn’t you get the message, do you want me to come down there and smack ya?
Nah, fine, whatever, bye

Which was funny enough, until he rang back for more…

Hello. I want to speak to Joh
That ain’t gonna happen, I told you already
I want to speak to the owner of this phone
I am the owner of this phone, do you have a problem? I’ve already told you I’ll come and smack ya
Look mate, I’m a f***in Royal Marine
Royal Marine eh? What does that mean, you play about in boats
Er, um
Just f*** off.

After the laughter died down we did put the chap out of his misery, between 4 of us texting back “Are… You… Confused… ???’ and getting the reply “You… Bunch… Of… Tossers”. Ah well, it was hilarious, you had to be there to see it.Returning home, a large amount of Malibu and Absinthe was consumed, and at one stage, there was even a plan to kidnap Dave and take him back to Portsmouth - we even wrote a note in some very bad french explaining exactly what we intended to do to him… but alas, after sleep and getting up at 6.30am to get back to Portsmouth that plan fell by the wayside. Saying goodbye to Laura who was up and wide awake to go and catch a plane, we piled back in the car and headed off into the sunrise.

Saturday…
Yeah… so anyway, it’s been a fairly quiet weekend here in the LowerFlat. Jim got back from home on Saturday night and since there was nothing better to do, the LowerFlat and Mark decided to head out down the pub, and for a change of scene we went for the Duke Of Buckingham down in Old Portsmouth. Feeling in a somewhat sociable mood, we also invited Penny and Gubbs - both of them actually arriving to grace us with their presence.

A few pints were consumed and the world put to rights - somewhere along the lines Jim and Rich even agreed that they’d attend the Quiz at the Union on Sunday night - depending on what state of inebriation they were in at the time. Come 11pm some rather unsociable person rang the bell and shouted ‘Time Please’ - all they had to do was look at their watch really but for some people even the most basic task can evidently be a chore.

Piling in a taxi, we returned back to Casa Chetwynd and feeling surprisingly the worse for wear after just a few pints we cracked on with the spirits, and cooked a highly delightful bowl of chips cheese and beans before heading off to bed - the idea being to get some work done sunday.

Sunday…
Sunday kicked off all rather normally with a little bit of work (not a lot mind you) being done. Rich had the brilliant idea of knocking up some Bacon and Egg sandwiches, whilst also drinking his first beer of the day. Come lunchtime, it was decided that the LowerFlat should pop out for a ‘lunchtime pint’… we never returned.

After a couple in the local we had a phone call from Rachele to see what we were up to, and in the interests of beer we headed off to The White Horse for a few whilst we waited for Phil to arrive from London to join us for the rest of the evening. He took a little longer than we’d have liked, so we moved onto the Owtback bar for a couple where Jim’s co-ordination was getting somewhat worse than usual. After putting the world to rights for a bit, followed by a short drive in the recently arrived Phil’s car we ended up in Goose for some food. Service was a bit slow, and so Jim resorted to eating Tartare Sauce out of the sachet. Thankfully shortly after a various assortment of food turned up, including Phil’s 6 bangers and mash - which ended up being quite an amusing sight to watch. During this time, the members of the LowerFlat also came up with some new hand gestures, and despite the best attempts of Rach to catch them on camera, they remain a mystery. There was also another co-ordination incident with Jim managing to get a large amount of ketchup to score a direct hit onto what had been a clean jumper.

After a dash back to the LowerFlat to get a clean jumper, we dropped Rach home and then headed off to the Union to get settled for the evening’s quizzing. By this time, feeling a little worse for wear. We arrived at the Union to meet Mark, Ross, Gubbs and Gem - and a whole host of ladies even worse for wear who probably wouldn’t have survived more than ten seconds infront of Simon Cowell with the level of singing talent they were demonstrating.

The quiz kicked off, with us in 2 teams, the idea being use the same answers and therefore get 1st and 2nd place and an increased winnings fund… however, owing to some confusion the final result was that ‘We never win anything’ came second and ‘LowerFlat.com + 1′ came aroud 5th or 6th - not really too sure how it all happened, but never mind. Jim’s skill in the half time quiz tie-breaker ensured that both teams got round on the house with the winning answer of 90,512… the question is what was the question…

Once it was all done and dusted, it was time to head home, courtesy of Phil’s driving once more, and Jim keeping (relatively) quiet in the back of the car.

So that’s the weekend, we’re next going drinking on Tuesday evening…. in Somerset.

Jim’s mates Phil and Dan came down to take part in the Lower Flat ‘Experience’ last friday. Perhaps it was rather foolish that Phil came down just after lunch o’clock only to be taken by Jim to a number of ale houses (and a certain Vodka bar). Rolling in at about 5pm to watch Richard and Judy followed by Neighbours, Rich (of the LowerFlat not the one with Judy) then joined us to start off the evening’s proceedings in the local pub where a number of pints of beer, and even more strangely that new Strongbow Sirrus stuff were consumed.

Around 7ish Dan (aka Dave) wandered past the window and was promptly pulled in for a swift pint, before we headed back home… Dan being hungry opted to visit the ‘Kebab Centre’ and grab a kebab - and all credit goes to him for actually managing to stomach one when sober.

Whilst sitting in the lounge of the Upper/Lower Flats indulging in some of the cider that Jim remembered leaving outside the back door some days before, Gubbs rang to say he was in the Vodka bar. Oh crap. Seems that in the haze that was the afternoon Jim had somehow forgotten the agreement to meet Gubbs in the Vodka bar at 8. The distinct lack of taxi meant moving out of the house and down into central Southsea pretty quickly to the chosen venue, HKC’s Vodka Bar - of course.

Meeting Gubbs we were shortly after joined by another acquaintance of Jim, Dan and Phil’s - Jonathan. Moving downstairs in HKC’s and commandeering a couple of tables the drinking continued with such Vodka delights in flavours including Milky Bar, Pear Drop, Rhubarb and Custard and Refreshers.

A change in taste dictated the move to Apsley house for a few pints of Addlestone’s - Dan lightweighting out onto the Stella, whilst Phil lightweighted out even more and proceeded to experience an encore of his previous consumptions into the toilet - before returning to the table and continuing to drink his pint, which by now contained a rather dubious amount of Cigarette ash… not that he noticed.

It became time to move on once more, Ross and Gubbs opting for the Union, the rest of us for the City Bar in search of a Midori Illusion, although they refused to serve those so we had to stick with the beers instead. Sometime after 11, Jonathan had to dive off and catch a train home and the rest of us feeling a little worse for wear decided to head back home. Walking to the Taxi Rank on Guildhall Walk there was the sudden desire to run up the steps of the Guildhall itself and joining in the chants of ‘Blue Army’ - though it had to be explained to Dan it wasn’t his native Birmingham City Blue Army we were in support of.

Rich dived off to Megabite, whilst Jim grabbed a passing Policeman to have his photo taken with, and Dan provided the camera man services - for some reason pretending to be foreign. One Mr Munchies had obtained his chips, cheese and beans it was time for a taxi home where the rest of us could order some pizza before passing out to sleep….

Well, aside from the phone call from Gubbs to let us know Ross had been kicked out of the Student Union (let’s not go into why…)… and in the case of Rich, being awoken for the half hour it apparently took Ross to get in the front door.

And who said alcohol’s bad for you?