The weekend started with my being crapped on by a bird,  in no way is this good luck, I would say it was a one in a million chance and bad luck: I’d just folded back my jacked sleeve so I could see my watch and held my hand out, this was when the bastard shat on me. I had to walk about 100m with crap on my hand and sleeve before I could find some vegetation not covered in Brambles or thorns to wipe it off. Ended up with mucky knees and a hand covered in mud and probably traces of putrid dog piss. Like I say, not good luck; an unhappy coincidence.

My son is off skiing with the school on Friday and this weekend his mate was 16. He was having a party at his house, we were meeting the parents at the pub for 7 until 11 when the party was done. What could possibly go wrong, I’m sure all these American College films and lazy “Eastender” plot lines can’t be right. Turns out they are! We popped down from the pub with Pizzas for the kids about 7:45, theres a bloke outside the house without his top on covered in mud and in the downward dog trying to vomit over the low fence, hes garbling in some broad Scottish accent. Ive never seen him before and know most of the lads here, they’re good mates, lovely kids and this guy was so obviously out of place. We open the front door to deliver the pizzas and my mates son comes up to my mate and tells him the downstairs toilet has been pulled off the wall, the bloke who did it is upstairs being sick in the spare room and some girls are looking after him, I think he was quite popular and very much the catch, especially with Sick Cart track breath. Theres loads of empty bottles and cans, vodka, cointreau, Bacardi, Blackcurrant cider, the children’s staple. We escorted the yoga performing Scottish scamp inside to warm up, and tried to read into his phone to call his folks as in the 15 minutes we had been there the was going whiter and whiter and greener and greyer, sitting on the kind of silver velvet Chesterfield holding him forward by his vomit covered arm he let rip and chunks of stomach lining and bile poured out of his mouth onto the sofa and his bony bare chest, his eyes rolling and no longer speaking, barely conscious, the coloured lights captured another more beautifully pressurised mist of vomit turning all the colours of the rainbow ads it covered the walls and floor, Chesterfield and everyone else within puking distance, proper projectile but in a wide arc and more of a mist, stunning. We’ed got hold of his parents who complained they’d just got a takeaway and we reminded them their son was in a dangerous state and he may need to go home. They arrived, the dad was cross and asked about drugs, of which there were none, and then asked as to what he did drink, turns out the bottle of Cointreau was his, or rather his Mum’s (bet she drinks it with Orange or Coke or something, disgusting drink) They got him into the back of the Audi and as they reversed up the road another explosion from inside the car, like the scene in Pulp Fiction where the shoot Marvin by accident in the car (was that his name?) Thank God we came back when we did, it could have been a very serious situation.

I’m hungry at the time and having a smoke outside after the dust has slightly settled and a new more fun type of party ensued, some of the kids were tidying up, many of them were telling us to go back to the pub and enjoy ourselves, that they’d sort it out. We did, but not before looking in through the lounge window to see a couple of couples snogging furiously as only teenagers do, biting each others faces off and chewing each others tongues.

A while later at the pub, nursing my pint, 4 of the kids came up to tell us that they’d cleared up and everything was under control, and they were so sorry they’d ruined our night. Really sweet but unnecessary, they’re good kids really, the toilet wasn’t pulled off the wall, merely nudged to create a slight leak, the house the following day looked better than my house after a bunch of my mates come for dinner.

Its a different world these days, and long may it continue, especially as this is the first of a run of 16th birthday parties, we’re lucky enough to have a summer lad, so it’ll be mostly outside, I’d better clear up the dog shit from the lawn first, but i’ve got 6 months or so to do that, or will it be somehow good luck to get Dog Shit on your hand? The answer is still no.