Monday, March 20, 2006

"Put it away, Kev..."

...and so went Germany.

Kev's all too loose fitting boxers aside, it was a raucous few days in Heidelberg. Myself, Johnny and Pike roused ourselves at some ridiculous hour on Friday morning, and went to pick Kev up from Glasnevin. Still sodden with sleep, the Murphy lad only went and forgot his passport, so the other three hightailed it back out the road and back to the airport again in 22 minutes. An impressive feat.

I maintained watch over the bags in the airport, trying for all I was worth to convince myself I wasn't dreaming.

Anyway, a couple of beers, a plane delay, another couple of beers, a flight and a perilous car journey later Johnny, Kev and I hit Heidelberg with Corporal Kenny.

It never stopped.

As with last year, O'Reillys was our base and we paid a couple of sleeping/eating/watching Alan Partridge visits to the Kenny-Lenner homestead. Much gratitude must again go out to Stef for putting up with three perma-farting, semi-naked Irishmen from the planet of neanderthal. God love her, she put up with it all with no little class...

Friday, of course, was Paddy's Day, and the Yanks took over the pub. Thankfully, Ann the owner had opened up early for us so we were happily shoehorned into a corner wherefrom we barely stirred.

I proceeded to chat up some Kerry lass who did or didn't or something have a boyfriend. By the end I was too blinded by Pils to really give a damn, but Kev insists I didn't get crap so who am I to argue?

What else? Johnny with the Guinness hat dancing on chairs, me telling Kenny's boss to do one after he smacked me playfully on the head (a no-go for anyone that knows me), the beer journal - a must on these trips and soon to be serialised in some gutterous magazine or other, the other Johnny from Skibbereen, Stef's mate Joanne, nearly puking by the river, a mess of Eye-talians and Scots and Scotch Whiskey and lights and spinning and waking up to Kev's boxers...

Saturday was an amble through the town and then back home to O'Reillys to watch the rugby. Even I, rugby-phobe incarnate, enjoyed it somewhat. It was the beer, believe me. Stef took pity on me and brought me home, and I was woken a short time later by the trickling of beer from Kev's bottle.

Scratch that, it was a fucking stream of the stuff. Anyway, I promptly moved to the couch and talked shite with Johnny in the sitting room for a while, before we both dozed off into the swinish sleep.

Sunday - Liverpool match in O'Reillys and then to the beautiful Ladenberg (Kenny, if you're reading this, did I spell it right?). What a town, quaint but never touristy, small streets, and they have that wood effect running the whitewashed buildings, the name for which I can't recall...

I wanted to ride that town. Sexually.

Anyway, we had these great steaks where they cook on this marble stone plate in front of you...

Ah, feck it, I'm drifting into the mundane.

We got wrecked. That will suffice.


Gypseysdog said...

You should have rode the water fountain in the town square or the like of that. Class re-counting.

Quinner said...

So you had a drink or two then?