A Very Jager Reunio

I sat looking into the toilet bowl, my self-respect at an all-time low and the beginning of the hang over downer looming, all I could think was, what another crackin’ family gathering!

It started with my cousin Simon getting married in Mexico to his lovely, now wife, Michelle. With it being an intimate wedding in a plush hotel, family and friends couldn’t make it to share they’re day, so like many couples who take the wedding abroad route, they decided to have a party when they got back, which happened last Saturday.

Our family is pretty big. My boyfriend who didn’t know a single person at this shindig, will vouch for the fact we can fill a venue pretty easily, and that’s just immediate family! The sad thing about our clan like a lot of others is that we’re all dotted across England and Wales, and seeing each other all together is few and far between. The last time we’d all been together was two years ago, and not only that, this was the first evening event in I can’t remember the years where we’d all be drinking and not traveling home. I know I’m over explaining this but you have to understand that we had all geared up to make this a big one.

We arrived in a tornado of exciting meets and greets, and introductions for Dan of cours. It began civilly. Wines, Beers, Spritzers, chats, and pleasantries, however one phrase changed that for the rest of the night. Jager Bombs!!!

We congregated at the bar, not giving the poor bar boys a chance to catch their breath. Whenever I turned around a drink was handed to me. When that was finished another full glass took its place, we each took turns getting a round of Bombs in, then bombs turned into Tequilas, then immediately went back to Jagers when we came to our senses. The night continued in a mix of great banter, cuddles from the girls and “I love it when we’re all together”. The ladies obviously took to the floor, to classics such as Rihanna, Black Legend and obviously The Dirty Dancing Theme, which I thought was great point to turn to my younger cousin Paul and say catch me! Lucky enough he declined.

The thing I notice about being the younger one of the family is that you’re always watching out for getting caught doing something stupid. From family dos in the past I always remember this. It doesn’t matter how old you are, or how long you’ve been out in the world on your own, when you get together with the family you always revert back to a child like sort of demeanour. This however was not the case, because the very people I would usually behave in front of were the ring leaders in this gathering.

Too quickly the bar was shutting, but not before my brother in law could buy 12 Jager Bombs and 12 Tequilas! The rush of the final shots, led to chants of “We’re all going to town”. We gathered in circles and continued the chants, ridiculing the cousins who wouldn’t join us.

My Mum, and sister were the unfortunate ones to taxi us down to town. This couldn’t have been pleasant for them! On the journey it wasn’t too long before Paul shoved his head out the window yelling “Bus Wankers” at passersby, and in true Inbetweeners Fashion we were stopped at traffic lights. Lucky for us Bromsgrove isn’t the kind of place where people will attack your car.

We got in the club and the drinks continued! Round after round. We danced to ridiculous songs in even more ridiculous styles. We chatted, and then it gets a bit dark. I don’t know the time, or when it was I got lost, but it was while dancing on the stage among other piss heads I looked around thought, it’s time to go. Taxi!

So back in my Aunt’s bathroom. A little worse for wear, and feeling as bad as I did, it was all worth it. It’s always great when you’re reminded how great family is, and how great it is to all hang out, be with each other, and having a great time. Even through my alcohol hazed memory!!

Like A Bat Outta Hell!!!!!!

It was 3pm on Friday, and I had that real Friday feeling just rushing through my veins. The weekend I’d been planning for months had arrived, and I only had two hours to wait then I was on my way to see my ladies. Three of my best friends were travelling all the way from good ol’ Welsh Wales to the Big Smoke for a visit. It wasn’t only the first time they were visiting me in my three years in Londinium but the first time we were going to be together for as long as I can remember, I couldn’t wait!

With the speed of a child at the school bell I ran out the doors of my pub, where I’m Assistant Manager, bid the guys a good night with a smug look on my face as the pub busied up, and I was off. I got to my sisters where we were meeting and waited for their imminent arrival! What I didn’t realise, my friend Leah was driving. To someone who doesn’t know Leah this can be confusing. You’ve heard of the phrase “You’ll be late for your own funeral”. This was written with Leah in mind. We have been Bezzies for 15 years, and in all that time she has not only never been on time for anything, but never been less than two hours late for anything! So once again me and my sister Gemma waited. The

majority of the bloody night we waited!

Busying ourselves with Gemma’s new baby, wine and fake bake, eventually they arrived. We squealed, delighted, reminisced about the good old days like good old friends do, and drunk champagne and wine. Like Welsh girls do! Before we knew it we were girlied out, and it was time for bed. Little did we know another guest had decided to join the party!

From downstairs I heard Hayley and Leah scream and scarper across the landing into mine and Nicola’s bedroom. I ran tearing up the stairs and straight into their room. I ran into the room where I was smacked in the face by a bat! I couldn’t have been more surprised if Tony Montana stood there with a baseball bat in his hand to beat me to death. This was a real, living breathing, nocturnal, what the hell are you doing in my sister’s house, BAT!

Like I said there were four girls. So like any girls in a high adrenaline situation we let our instincts take over and did what came naturally to defend ourselves from this creature of the night. We screamed. Then we screamed some more. Then Gemma came running and she screamed. Then the baby screamed. We turned to Steve my sister’s husband to come and save the day. He came bounding up the stairs, ready to defend us like any Alpha Male when his home is threatened, and opened the door where the fanged beast was, and you guessed it. He screamed! Hope was lost.

So the situation was, he was in there and we were in the hall.

No one dared open the door. Time ticked on, and for all we knew the little shit could have been redecorating in there. It was obvious that none of us were willing to take the plunge and take that bastard out. Someone had to do something. I don’t know if it was our friends in peril, my nephew in danger, or just the buzz of the wine and champagne but before I knew it me and Hayley were dressed top to toe in hoodies and jogging bottoms. Ready for battle. With baseball hats on, and jumpers tied around our faces to protect us (not looking too far from the riot photos on the news!) we were ready to go in. All we needed was a game plan. Go in covertly and take him out peacefully. Or actual plan, run in, throw something at it then shoo it out the window. We knew it was going to be a team effort!

We flew in threw the towel, and it darted around the room. Heading right for us. We dove and ducked as it flapped around our heads. Hayley dove onto the bed screaming “Faye please don’t leave me”! I knew then I was on my own. Through my tears, sweat, and I’m not gonna lie, I probably crapped myself a little, I whipped the towel with all my might and sent that daemon straight back to hell. Or through the closest window. As quick as it had begun it was over. We left the room heroes. A little warmer, wired, and with a great story to begin our weekend.

We Write Because We Write.

We Write Because We Write.

It’s been over a year since I think I’ve written anything. I used to write. I used to write all the time. Everyday. Reviews, Articles, Features, Poems, Short strories. Anything. I wrote because I enjoyed it. I wrote because it helped me. In my everyday life it made me feel good. Whatever happened I wrote about it.

Then for some reason I just stopped.

I finished my degree, and I kept writing. Then I watched, as so many of my class mates went on to write. Professionally write, what I used to call real writing. That’s where I got hung up, and that’s when I forgot the importance of writing. What it means to be a writer.

As soon as I forgot that and began comparing myself to other people, and what they were doing, was when the FEAR began! I lost confidence in myself, my ability, and worse my writing. When I forgot the importance of writing, I forgot how much I loved it.

It was only when I was searching through some old papers that I dicovered a box of all my old writing. A fraction of what I’ve written through my life but ones that mean so much to me I keep them with me at all times. Everyone who is a writer has these stacks of papers. Reading these was when I decided to say ‘to hell with it’. SO I’m going back to basics. I’m writing what I want to make me happy, and I’m putting it out there for all to see. All the little insperations life has to offer! From moving in with my best mate, to opening a new pub in East London. Alot is changing for me over the next few months! There should be ups, and downs, triumphs and fails, but it’s gonna be a fun ride!

Would love feedback of anykind if you care to take a read from time to time. My writing is back and it’s out there with it’s big brass balls in it’s hands!!!!