A few things I can remember from today:
The last sensible eating I did of the trip was the croissant I had at Starbucks in the morning. And have a coffee, which I ordered in the name of Jesper for some reason. The Starbucks guy clearly heard Jasper, though, as you can tell from the picture below. And I didn’t even notice the man’s bottom in the top of the picture. So anyone suggesting that I travel around Europe buying coffee under assumed names to use this as an excuse to take a picture of coffee which I can then place near a man’s bottom (to have the picture of the man’s bottom) needs to get a life.
To be fair I did follow this up with schnitzel and chips in a rooftop garden around lunch time, to be unfair getting a children’s portion was the start of it all going wrong. It’s not like I didn’t know what was coming: lots of alcohol and probably not having the capacity to eat on Sunday. In a scenario like this I should abide by a single rule of thumb: if I have the capacity to eat then eat an adult’s meal and not something of the children’s menu because I don’t want to eat.
We spent the afternoon (drinking) in the centre of Munich. Which was (a) fucking hot and (b) punctuated by me occasionally taking a picture of my mate with someone wearing a football shirt of a not-well-known football team on. Then there was a small wander about for somewhere inside as everyone was baking before finding some big park to watch football and have a (bit more of a) drink.
I got lost after wandering off from a big park where we were drinking and watching the football. I have no moments of clarity other than realising at one point I had turned too many times in different ways and had no idea how to get back to the park; also I was in a not too busy part of Munich so there weren’t many taxis – and while thinking ‘I’m a bit fucked here’ a taxi pulling up and knowing where my hotel was just based on its name. This might not be too amazing given the amount of tourists a taxi driver must cater for but, as I might have suggested, I was not in a completely fit state at this point and the comprehension of what is and what isn’t a fantastic bit of luck were confusable.
When you’ve been in the middle of a foreign country and had the thought that walking away from your friends, because you’re that drunk, is a good idea its a good sign that you probably are a bit drunk. And if you are that drunk going having a lie down for an hour is a decent idea – even if you’ve had a slightly sobering ‘getting lost in a foreign city without your wits (lets be honest, it’s not a great loss)’ experience. So, getting out of the taxi, I was delighted to see most of the lads in the reception. They had assumed I was with three of the other lads (who I do often ‘get lost’ with to be fair – that’s not the same get lost as I had done where I had no idea where I was, it’s more the get lost where you find a quite place to have a drink away from the crowd) who had also got lost – the kind where you go to a quite pub and have a drink away from the crowd not the kind I had done where I didn’t know where I was.
So, rather than go to sleep, I went out again – after the other lads turned up from being lost. In this situation, the situation where you’ve stopped yourself going to bed being very drunk and then washed your face and changed your clothes, when you go out you clearly have the option to get yourself a pint of coke or some water or have some food. I had five Jager Bombs in ten minutes. And then got told there was something called a Skittle Bomb and had one of those as well. (Yes, we had gone back to the Irish Bar – of course we did. We weren’t losers though, it was housed in the same building as a Scottish Bar and an Australian Bar so the variety of places we visited was quite breathtaking.)
After this is does all get a bit hazy, and the bits I do have memories of are not worth recounting OR might result in some criminal charges being brought against some people, and while I respect certain rules of The Stag I will say they all involve things that would just make someone learn of them say ‘fucking hell’ in a ‘that sounds just a bit like the lad that all these mini-stories are about occasionally crosses a line with his respect of people’s personal space’ kind of way rather than it involve anyone doing anything naughty in a traditional stag do sense.
That said I could have killed someone later on and I would have no memory of it whatsoever.