OK..I'm going through my email and I find this...a part of a band newsletter I recieve...found this quite amusing, possibly because I've been in a similar situations before, although I'm glad I don't get sick when drunk...yeah, I'm just easily amused or something...anyway, read on if you like. Hope none of you are having your dinner at the moment.
Sheffield on a Friday night. West Street. We slip into the first curry house we come across eager to escape the hostile stares of inebriated men in pastel coloured shirts. The inviting warmth and aroma of the restaurant, swiftly turns sour as one eloquent gentleman observes "Fookin hell the bands arrived". Fortunately the concierge soon greets us and takes us to a table for six. We take our seats, facing each other in two rows of three. Ben, Sam and I across from Tom, James and Dylan. Drinks and poppadoms are ordered and the other diners lose interest in us as they conclude that they don't know which band we are. I am sure that if any one of them had heard of us then 'Jumping the Great White' would have accompanied the Muzak that fell gently from the restaurant speakers. The evening progresses, red wine and lager fuel a heated discussion about the relative merits of recording on to tape in favour of computer. It's a clichéd subject for a band to discuss and an argument without an answer or an end. Every band has to have it, whether a curry house is the most productive place to do so, is debatable. On a table towards the back of the restaurant, there are a man and a woman trying to lift their friend from his seat, he is obviously paralytic and does not wake up despite their coaxing. When his eyes do finally open he seems angry and confused. He soon recognises his surroundings and wisely makes the decision to leave, he stumbles no more than three feet where he is halted by a wall, he sighs and vomits over himself, the floor and the wall. The wallpaper looks slightly improved by this new addition. The carpet looks nonplussed, clearly a veteran of such incidents. The man raises his head as if he is smelling the air, acting on instinct rather than conscious thought, he makes a break for the door. Again physics and furniture prove formidable enemies, his path blocked by tables and chairs, he shows us more of the menu in a cascade that covers the floor and one man's shoe. With a couple more faltering attempts, he builds enough momentum to exit the building and leaves his friends to apologise to the owners. It takes us several minutes to decide whether to stay for our food that hasn't arrived yet. We are too hungry to leave and the staff have the mess cleaned up with military precision. It turns out to be a wise decision as later on in the evening a man announces that "The winner of the Russell Brand look-alike contest is YOU", I was unaware that I had entered a competition, maybe it was compulsory if you ordered a Balti. Still I was pleased to have won, however my only prize it seems was a drunk arsehole getting in my face, I can only imagine how the other contestants were treated if that's all I got for winning. Don't think too harshly of this man though, he had just had his shoe vomited on. Thanks for all your continued support, keep singin, James Vanja http://www.sudar.co.uk MSN messenger: [EMAIL PROTECTED] AIM: vanja121 Skype: vanja121
