Drink ALL the shots!

What happens when you invite people from the UK, Sweden, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Belgium, Saudi Arabia, the Netherlands, The Faroe Islands, Russia, and put them all into a Student Pub in the middle of London?

I will throw fireballs in the air, and will stroll home drunk, at three o’ clock in the morning, singing Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General’ at the top of my lungs.

..but perhaps a little more information is required.

Many know that I’m a part of a World of Warcraft guild that meet up a few times a year for a weekend of drinking and debauchery. That time of year rolled around again, but with friends in another guild by the name of Viri Fortuitus, I was invited/goaded into crashing their meeting, taking part in the city.

At this point, it’s easiest to enrapture you with weekend alcoholic tales in a chronological fashion, for fear of forgetting details otherwise. 

Thursday Evening – The Calm before the Storm

We start, simply, with a precursor to the weekend. It was within my mandate to meet and escort to the city, the leader of Viri Fortuitus, and good friend, Linnea. Long time readers of Tales of a TDB will recognise her perhaps by the name ‘Barbiedoodles’, over at WTBTalent. After a relatively easy train out of the city and to the airport, Meet Linnea I did, and after dropping off her bags at my abode, we were once again swiftly into the city.

I had promised her a tour of London by night, but not before one stop that anyone who’s followed this blog will know from the old days. Linnea, like few before her, has been inducted into the ‘Milkshake Mafia’ – your assumptions are correct. We went straight to Tinseltown, the 24 Hour Milkshake bar in Farringdon. Before I forget – Milton, “U Mad Bro?”

Two incredibly sugary, syrupy, milky, creamy, fruity shakes later, our tour of the city took us along the South Bank, enjoying the sights of not only the Bank, but the Illuminated gardens, The National Theatre, and of course, the London Eye. Cutting through embankment, naturally both Trafalgar and Leicester Squares were on the list, as was Picadilly Circus and Chinatown.

Having walked to all these places from the other side of Camden, through Euston and Kings Cross, we very much decided that, as it was 4am, perhaps a bus home would be prudent. Alas, getting to sleep when the birds are singing is less than easy.

Friday – The Day I would Die (If Bar Staff Lacked Common Sense)

Friday morning saw Linnea and I head into the city in order to start meeting the rest of her fellow guildies. Before we could sit down in the pub (The Rocket, Naturally), we were greeted by Olen, Resinderate and Thore (that’s right, it’s a Warcraft guild, we’re using Warcraft names here) the latter of whom brandished Bloody Marys in our direction. One by one, people started to join us, including Ihealalot, Piaroa, Madorable, Mona, Feomer & Lowa, Krillion and Memz, not to mention Rezhila & Lichblade, and a surprise for all, Claudio. The day went neither slowly nor quickly – just like any day should, and good company was enhanced by good drinks, and good food (including the most delicious burger I’ve had in some 3 years).

Being 6,7″ tall (200.4 cm for all you metric folk) has both its pros and cons. Some cons would be having to bend my neck when standing on a train, others would be walking into doors. The Boons of my height however, truly outweight the cons, and the one I’m most grateful for would be not an immunity, but certainly a great resistance, to the effects of alcohol.

I had made a critical mistake, however.

I was warned not to divulge such information to the God amongst men that is Thore – advice I rather swiftly forgotten when I stated that it’s relatively difficult to get me drunk. At this point, Thore lined up two Whiskey Doubles for me, and a Pint, and told me to down each in order.

I did this quite successfully.

Evidently, Thore was amused, but his thirst to destroy my liver had not been sated. He then proceeded to line up 5 Whiskeys, calling it ‘The Waterfall’ – a name of his own creation in the heat of the moment. I was to shoot all five.

Again, I did this with little difficulty.

Thore then disappeared to the other end of the table, to regroup with his thoughts and plot the imminent assassination of my liver. It was before too long that he walked up to me, and said “Adam, we’re going to get you drunk. You have my word. What are you drinking?”. At this point, I was sensible, and informed him that I was fine for a drink, it really wasn’t necessary to get me one. Evidently, he didn’t agree. After some relatively machismo banter, he went to the bar. I followed, to find out he was attempting to order ONE HUNDRED SHOTS to be lined up in front of me on the table. The bar staff, whom he’d made friends with clearly before our arrival, had fortunately refused to honour such a request. My internal organs breathed a sigh of relief, whilst my face displayed a visible disappointment.

The rest of the evening was largely without incident, the alcohol kept flowing, and I exercised this wonderful social event as an ideal opportunity to bust out some magic – every 20 minutes or so would see me throwing fireballs across the table. Of course, being a Forlorn Hope member at another guild’s meet, I naturally took the opportunity to apply liberal sprinklings of Rickrolling, thanks to the jukebox sat inconspicuously in the pub. Once everyone had arrived, we made sure that everyone had packed their bags into the nearby hostel.

Thore and I indulged in some Remy Martin, but it was not long before all of us would head back out to O’Neills, a nearby Irish Bar. It was in here that not only would we notice the passing of midnight, signalling Krillion’s Birthday, but also the arrival of Thore’s signature drink – The Irish Carbomb. We slowly filtered out into our own conversations, mine going into some displays of magic, eventually earning myself a protegé in the form of Ihealalot, who I’m now offering advice to in terms of decks and sleight of hand manipulations.

As O’Neills closed, I walked with everyone to the Hostel, in the cloud tainted moonlight. A very mischievous Thore had scouted the hostel a few months before, and retained some card keys, keys I still have now, allowing access to the Hostel. I had however, decided it would be wise that at 2am, to make my way home, and head home I did.

Luck was not particularly in my favour however, and the bus I was on broke down about 3 kilometres from home. Fairly inebriated, I decided to continue on foot.

What is unknown to many is that I’m quite the deceptive drunk. I can walk straight, talk with articulacy and aplomb. It is only when I am dangerously inebriated that these abilities begin to wane. As such, I have a test for these matters. If I can perfectly recite the first two verses of ‘I am the very Model of a Modern Major General’ from Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘Pirates of Penzance’, then I know I’m not in any danger of collapsing. This means I was happily singing to myself in the street at close to 3am. Singing, until at least I reached the very large hill on the way to my house, which, whilst I did successfully conquer whilst inebriated, I managed to twist my ankle (yes, again) going down the other side. Suffice to say, my bed was indeed appreciated.

Saturday – A Day that will Live in Infamy

A delightful morning breakfast near the hostel was certainly enough to sustain us for the day ahead. A mostly mutual decision was for the group to visit the Forbidden Planet, one that had gone down well, as we spent 75 minutes there, looking around. Yours truly picked up some of the stimulants that got me through university, and observed as many picked up geek-related trinkets.

It was not long after that our party went separate ways. One group went back to the Pub in order to drink and watch sports, the other group, whom your dear narrator led, went for lunch in Leicester Square, followed by a trip to the Trocadero.

Or so I had thought.

For as long as I could remember, the Trocadero at Leicester Square was home to a four-storey arcade. Back in the day, I knew it as Segaworld, and eventually the not so well named Funland. Alas, no more. The Arcade I had spent hours of my life in, both as a child and a teenager, has been permanently shut down. Suffice to say, this was a shock for me, more than anyone else, and greatly distressing.

After some moments of deliberation, I led the group to both Regents and Oxford Streets, for shopping and drinking. We also briefly popped into London’s Largest Toy Store, Hamleys, which I must say I found immensely fun. Not because of browsing at the toys like I might have 10 years ago, but because many of the floor assistants were performing magic – magic that came pre-packaged and mass manufactured. I took great pleasure in my arrogance, and knowing how every effect was done. Upon saying to Ihealalot “It’s a Svengali deck”, the look on the assistant’s face swiftly changed from cocky to crestfallen.

We exited Hamleys before I could do too much social damage, and whilst the majority of Ladies went shopping (Linnea stayed with us), the Men found a pub and got comfortable, where, after not too long, we would be joined by the leader of my Guild, Mauddib (also referenced on TDB as ‘Farlit Morcha’). Naturally Mauddib proceeded to amaze with his dark arts of card Magicka, a power and skill that currently exceeds my own, despite what he may say. It was after an hour or two of more magic and drinking that we proceeded onwards to Kings Cross in order to join the rest of our group at the Pub, where we soon found out that Solene would indeed join us.

Ordering drinks at this point had become quite difficult, as Linnea had been watching me like a hawk, and refused to let me buy another drink for the rest of the night. This continued to again, O’Neills, whereupon it’s closing still didn’t stop our drinking shenanigans. It’s at this point I was truly grateful for the Hostel Card I had received, as beyond the glowing neon halls and lobbies were the Hostel’s own bar, in which many of us took refuge. There was no ordinary lighting – it was either entirely backlit, or much of the environment bathing in the aforementioned neon. We took some drinks, found a private booth, and continued on until 4am, during which time I happily laid down a few card illusions for everyone, the red neon bouncing playfully off the surface of my very beautiful Artifice Deck of Cards.

As the night drew to a close, and the bar evicted us to the outer rooms, I played a few rounds of a Russian Card Game with Olen, got a Godly neck adjustment from Thore, and very politely said my goodbyes for the evening. Once again, I made my inebriated way home. At this point, I was still certainly the Very Model of a Modern Major General.

Sunday Morning – Something I’m Still Easier Than

Sunday saw me waking up unnaturally early, and calculating that in the past three days, I’d had less than 10 hours sleep. Nonetheless, showers and shaving was calling me, and I’d head back to the Hostel to find Piaroa to be the only person awake, attemping to slather her toast with Jam whilst looking like she really would have liked to sleep many more moons. This was a feeling I shared.

This was the period of time I had least looked forward to. Everyone slowly made their way downstairs to the waiting areas and cafeterias, packed and ready to leave. Between various amounts of hugging, handshakes and tired smiles, we slowly filtered our way out. It was Feomer, Lowa, Linnea and I who left first, and then shortly after split ways.

I had promised Alugrim, another Viri Member who unfortunately couldn’t make the trip, that I would not murder Linnea in her sleep with an Axe. Which, true to my word, I didn’t. I did however, take such a promise on further in its capacity, as a mandate to ensure nobody from the guild was harmed. As such, I travelled with Linnea back to the train station in order to make sure she found her way to the airport. It had been my intentions to travel back to the hostel to escort more, however my sleep derived body took control, and refused flat out to do so.

After seeing Linnea off, and heading towards home, I felt a strange sensation not felt in some seven years. I was actually getting quite teary-eyed. People on the underground stared at me as I attempted to hide my apparent shame, either through awkwardness or the inability to look away at the spectacle I was fast becoming. Several days later, I still can’t explain it. I think it’s safe to say however, that it was a bloody good weekend.

Call me a traitor, a deserter, or whatever. It doesn’t change the fact that Viri Fortuitus know how to freakin’ party.