18th Birthday Party

[JLv3.0]

Triggered By Dave?

To Be Determined, you silly cross sausage

[JLv3.0]

I've never had a problem being served

Yeah but you're Scottish - got to start em young

[ste]

I had 6th form that day. I finished up and drove my S plate brown 998cc Mini around to my girlfriend's. She bought me a C DixCept shirt and a leather belt from Diesel. i've still git the belt somewhere. We had a special cuddle and I drove back home. I had a trip planned to Life @ Bowlers at the weekend, so the actual night of my birthday was fairly low key. I had ten or so mates and respective girlfriends over and we went to the local pub, The Wilton. My Dad came along too. The Wilton is a typical flat-roofed estate pub. There's a lounge, a vault and a pool room. It's a Joey Holts pub, which means a pint was about 90p then and there's a meat raffle. There's always for some reason a man in the corner selling eggs who is still there to this day. The clientel was as you'd imagine, local 'simple' people. I'd been there often with my Dad, no bother. But the pub wasn't really ready for a big group of my mates tipping up in high spirits. We piled into the pool room, got some drinks and started a game of pool, stacking our 20ps along the edge to indicate who was on next. So far, so good.

Then entered Stan and his mate. Stan saw this as his pub. Stan's Transit pickup was parked outside, he'd had a long day digging holes and wanted a quiet pint and a game of pool. What Stan didn't want was a load of grammar school 6th form cunts with clothes and haircuts that confused him. Stan wrote his name on the chalkboard behind the pooltable in big letters and retreated to sip his pint in the corner, slowly eyeing each one of us in turn, weighing us up. The game ended and as I was next in the queue I made to grab the next 20p in the line and start a new game. Stan had other ideas.

"I'm on next".

"There's a queue mate, see the lines of 20ps there?"

"I'm on next. In this pub you write your name on the board"

So we humoured Stan. Stan racked the balls and then announced. "It's winner stays on." Fair enough Stan, it's your pub.

I don't remember the game in detail, but I remember the end. I was battered and stan ran me around the table. With each pot his chest puffed up more and he strutted about telling us all how to play pool. For each of my shots he banged his queue on the floor and offered 'advice' at opportune moments just as I was taking my shots. He got to the black and he sank it with ease. The white bounced off the cushion, rolled across the table and deposited itself in the opposite pocket.

I can't be sure, but I think what I shouted was "Ahhhhhhh you cunt!"

And that's how I came to spend my 18th outside a pub, with my Dad having a brawl with 2 pikeys. It got broken up before too long as most pub fights used to do and we all decanted ourselves back from the pub to recount the story over cans of my Dad's Kestrel lager while my poor old Mum ordered an Indian takeaway for the marauding horde that had arrived back and taken over her lounge.

[NotoriousREV]

Did no-one else go to their local sticky-carpet nightclub using free tickets they'd mined the electoral roll for and posted out? Complete with free bottle of 'champagne' for the birthday victim.

Coach trip to Tramps, those were the days ... (they weren't )

My mate got a nosh off this horrible fat heifer on his 18th in full view of everyone after we’d got free tickets etc. They’ve been married 20 years now and have 3 kids.

[speedingfine]

His first and last night of freedom

[JLv3.0]

Ste - as fucking epic as that was - what's a '"meat raffle'?

[evostick]

I had 6th form that day. I finished up and drove my S plate brown 998cc Mini around to my girlfriend's. She bought me a C DixCept shirt and a leather belt from Diesel. i've still git the belt somewhere. We had a special cuddle and I drove back home. I had a trip planned to Life @ Bowlers at the weekend, so the actual night of my birthday was fairly low key. I had ten or so mates and respective girlfriends over and we went to the local pub, The Wilton. My Dad came along too. The Wilton is a typical flat-roofed estate pub. There's a lounge, a vault and a pool room. It's a Joey Holts pub, which means a pint was about 90p then and there's a meat raffle. There's always for some reason a man in the corner selling eggs who is still there to this day. The clientel was as you'd imagine, local 'simple' people. I'd been there often with my Dad, no bother. But the pub wasn't really ready for a big group of my mates tipping up in high spirits. We piled into the pool room, got some drinks and started a game of pool, stacking our 20ps along the edge to indicate who was on next. So far, so good.

Then entered Stan and his mate. Stan saw this as his pub. Stan's Transit pickup was parked outside, he'd had a long day digging holes and wanted a quiet pint and a game of pool. What Stan didn't want was a load of grammar school 6th form cunts with clothes and haircuts that confused him. Stan wrote his name on the chalkboard behind the pooltable in big letters and retreated to sip his pint in the corner, slowly eyeing each one of us in turn, weighing us up. The game ended and as I was next in the queue I made to grab the next 20p in the line and start a new game. Stan had other ideas.

"I'm on next".

"There's a queue mate, see the lines of 20ps there?"

"I'm on next. In this pub you write your name on the board"

So we humoured Stan. Stan racked the balls and then announced. "It's winner stays on." Fair enough Stan, it's your pub.

I don't remember the game in detail, but I remember the end. I was battered and stan ran me around the table. With each pot his chest puffed up more and he strutted about telling us all how to play pool. For each of my shots he banged his queue on the floor and offered 'advice' at opportune moments just as I was taking my shots. He got to the black and he sank it with ease. The white bounced off the cushion, rolled across the table and deposited itself in the opposite pocket.

I can't be sure, but I think what I shouted was "Ahhhhhhh you cunt!"

And that's how I came to spend my 18th outside a pub, with my Dad having a brawl with 2 pikeys. It got broken up before too long as most pub fights used to do and we all decanted ourselves back from the pub to recount the story over cans of my Dad's Kestrel lager while my poor old Mum ordered an Indian takeaway for the marauding horde that had arrived back and taken over her lounge.

[ste]

Ste - as fucking epic as that was - what's a '"meat raffle'?

It's a raffle. For meat.

[drcarlos]

Suits in a club, like Rodney Trotter and Mickey Pearce!? You guys are proper old!

I expect my 18th was off my tits at some shitty club in Camberley or something - I can’t remember back that far...

Pantiles?

Mine was at the local Football Club, about 75 people in total. Unfortunately, I too am so old that I was wearing a suit!

we used to have our 6th form summer parties at pantiles- they’d separate the right hand bar and you’d get a stamp if you were over 18 to use it. Everyone just pressed their stamps on everyone else’s hand and transferred it over!

A few years on they used to have student nights on Wednesday there too - I used to turn up to work on Thursdays absolutely hanging.

It was an absolute shit hole full of letchy old businessmen men on the weekends though. And now it’s an old people’s home....!

Used to have to blag our way into Pantiles all the time as they ran a fairly strict door policy on Thursdays and Saturdays. We got our client (the marketing dept of a large defence contractor) to run a permanent guest list that we were on, was easy from then on.
My guess that Rich was in Joe Bananas or maybe JW's, we had some fun nights in there, properly steaming, when hangovers could be fought off with a bacon sarnie and several cans of coke. Now I just think 'Fuck That!'.

My 18th was a fairly sedate family dinner, but my 21st would have involved a rave somewhere (either the Sanctuary at MK or Royal Bath and West Showground) and looked like the movie Human Traffic!

Carl.

[JLv3.0]

Thanks mate, that helps

Looking back the clues were there.

[ste]

If I go up and see my parents I'll still sometimes walk around to The Wilton with my Dad. A pint is now over £2 though. It's still the same clientel as before, by which I don't mean the same type of people, but exactly the same people, now with various age related ailments, walking frames and other geriatric devices all slowly dribbling into their drinks.

The local undertakers in the area is called Sillets, so my Dad fondly refers to the place as Sillet's waiting room.

[drcarlos]

The white bounced off the cushion, rolled across the table and deposited itself in the opposite pocket.

Love it when that happens, what can you do eh?

Carl.

[Brannen]

I went to a house party for my 18th. Drank a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then there’s a blank. I woke up the next day with a shaved head in a different house to where I had been. No idea what happened.

[John]

I went to a house party for my 18th. Drank a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then there’s a blank. I woke up the next day with a shaved head in a different house to where I had been. No idea what happened.