Turning Twenty and Messy

After great anticipation and hype, my first blog is finally here...

So if you have been fretting over being in the dark about my account of the last couple of weeks and turning 20 then you can sit back and as Shey would say to his loving bitches: “enjoy yourself”.

Even though I saw Inception before I turned 20 I feel it definitely deserves a mention as the most mind-blowingly epic film I can think of and I feel I am insulting it with this mere mention of just a paragraph dedicated to it. The only regret I have about it is that I haven’t seen it a second time round.

Now on to the feeling of being 20; at the time of writing I can safely report that there have been no physical changes in me and my voice is still as high as ever. I have been binging like a trooper on such luxuries as KFC (notably the magnificent gravy that could definitely bring an end to the troubles in the Middle East), Mcdonalds and the odd crate of tinnies. Talking of this binging, the last brutal drinking game of my teenage years was situated at David Goddard’s house where I made a mockery of Finkle’s rah hand me down Ralph Lauren shirt by getting sick all over it after being welcomed back to Basingstoke with many gifts in the form of pints of stella (and also Dave’s toilet floor which was surprisingly amusing to his dad Marcus). This night was followed then by a whim outing into Basingstoke’s intriguing nightlife to celebrate my last night of being a teenager with just the solo Antony Thornton for company, which I now know is a dangerous combination with events on and around the dance floor which are surely only matched for embarrassment by England’s world cup performance this year. It is safe to say these events should not be brought up again and I look forward to a denim filled freshers week to put them firmly behind me.

My actual birthday was a delight with many great gifts with the most notable being a hat with the round head of a hero of the gimp manc world, Karl Pilkington sitting upon it. It is definitely my new crown.

Just like Hitler, I try and plan ahead and I tried to make my birthday as childish as possible with the Basingstoke rabble and I visiting the local leisure park to enjoy a 9 hole round of golf where I hit my personal best ever score of 35 to predictably lose only to one Tom Skinner which I was understandably ecstatic about as we then followed this round up with a beautiful and timeless big mac (the 4th fast food outing in 4 days) which saw me wearing a lovely bib provided by Stuart (aka. Alan Titchmarsh) to protect my glistening white shirt which was sabotaged so cruelly by my own dad armed only with a tub of KFC beans. We then moved on to the bowling alley with a perfect circle of a tomato sauce stain on my shirt to comfort me. The theme of the day was to power bowl our way through many frames and dirty shots that had been so kindly mixed and donated to my big day’s drinking cause which astonishingly did not make a return journey back up my gullet. The ever drunk Duckman then fell for a cruel trick by my team and I to ruin his game which he then blamed on the infinitely camp manager to then get chucked out by the slowest security team I have seen since the 60s. He then decided to then run back in and steal a bowling ball... Ronnie Biggs eat your heart out!

After as dramatic an evening you can have when bowling I returned to Reading after introducing the Southenders and fellow denim and filthy joke lover Mr Hesp to a bit of pitch n putt. This first night in uni town was filled with many over priced beers and resulted in being walked home with old man Gaisford with Shey playing the carer role. Only the lord would know what any passer by would have that about what position in society us three had on a Monday night stumbling around the suburbs while house hunting at the same time. The brilliant birthday week then came to a fitting end with the awesome A-Team which inspired me to adopt the insane scene-stealing Murdock into my own personality from now on. And looking back at the action packed week I have definitely learned there definitely is no plan B.

Scabface

The latest drunken night has also seen me delve into a new drinking game called “Ride the bus” which can evidently be rigged against such paraletic fools such as myself and, once again, the great duck (who, after trying to open a kitchen door with his foot, chundered all over it much to everyone’s, especially Skinner’s, amusement). After this game eventually came to a head we headed out to create club roundabout which ended up with wrestling, neighbour fighting and injuries (pictured) all happening after duckman had vomit squeezed out of him all over Ant’s leg, much akin to a tube of toothpaste, during a dog pile. It seemed like a mixture of scenes from the hills have eyes and family guy.

I have also learned that I am definitely not a leader of the schweffing and prefer to be pushed in the right direction rather than making on the spot schweff decisions after a distinctive lack of it recently...

I feel after nearly 1000 words of my first blog it is time to call it a day and move on to writing my sitcom with fellow executive producer David Goddard (remember that name, hopefully for the right reasons and not because you are scared stiff by a creepy overseas text he may have sent you recently).This video is well worth a watch and apparently we look like this pair. I’ll leave it to you to decide which is which... http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/e8e4424115/between-two-ferns-with-zach-galifianakis-from-between-two-ferns-zach-galifianakis-michael-cera-and-comedy-deathray

Until next time, Chris Wilson... obviously.