my note for the day from Spence the Viking

As it seems from your blog entries, I missed an almighty piss-up, which is a shame. Even more of a shame than not being able to play dirty against some fit and healthy young students who are trying to run rings around me. So, in order to make up in some small way for my absence from what appears to have been a large one by all accounts, I thought I would explain what I was doing for the weekend that prevented me from attending. As some of you may know (but most of you won't) I'm one of the Faces on the scooter scene (so I'll be gutted if you really did meet Ray Winstone). Prior to hearing about this event, I'd already booked a flight to Germany to attend the Armed Forces Scooter Club end of season bash in none other than that jewel of north western Europe, Paderborn.

Having spent the day at work, I dashed home, and RVd with the people I was travelling to Manchester Airport with. Arriving 1800hrs, having a secure carpark drama, then checking in, we met up with four more AFSC members and hit the bar. A couple of beers later it was boarding time, blah blah hour and a half, Air Berlin, screaming kid a couple of rows back blah blah. Got picked up at Paderborn-Lippstadt airport and taken direct to Willy's Bar (that's the owner by the way, not the entertainment) where we met about thirty or so more AFSC members and German scooterists. Straight on the Warsteiner in large amounts until 0230hrs when Willy had enough and chucked us out. "Taxis nach Zentrum bitte" all round; unfortunately Paderborn is not the Partei Zentrum I remember Herford to be, and the only place open at that time on a Friday night was an Irish cellar bar. So of course we hit the Guinness. As you do.

Inevitably, the more I drink, the better my German gets, so I spent several hours boring a local scooterist to death, before asking for directions to the nearest Gyros. Instantly I was transported back 15 years as I indulged in the heavenly combination of proper meat, pitta bread, tsatsiki and trimmings. Why on earth are we still eating that donner shit over here? Anyway, me and three of the lads grabbed a taxi (by now it's 0600hrs) back to Dempsey Kaserne with the nicest driver ever, until he noticed Steve had dropped Gyros on his seats, at which point he became comedy German, shouting things like "Scheisse!", I kid you not. So, after 24 hours on the go, I allowed myself four fitful hours sleep, before getting up, having several brews, shit/shower/shave and into the cookhouse for what the Army calls "brunch", but what you and I would call "scraps".

Having lined my stomach with grease, I gave the peggies a well-earned brush, and as soon as the NAAFI bar opened at 1200hrs we were in there. Sensibly sticking to Corona lager, which Ferg, Morgs and Pete Dev will testify is a thirst-quenching, life-saving alternative to 'heavier' beers, I watched my compatriots get steadily wankered on pint bottles of Beck's while we watched the international on about twenty giant flatscreens (NAAFIs were different in my day, I mean, my feet didn't even stick to the floor in this one). Now you might think, he was at the AFSC end of season bash, why was he taking it easy? Well that's because I wasn't. The bash wasn't due to start until 1800hrs, and with a scheduled finish of 0600hrs the following morning, I was playing the smart game lads, trust me.

So, at about 1930hrs, we thought it might be fair to show our faces at the do. Not before going back to the block for a shower and to iron the trusty Ben Sherman of course. By this time one or two of the lads were a little the worse for wear. One submariner who shall remain nameless even made quiet death threats to several of us before snapping out of it. But, we made it to the do and got right back on the horse. Then, using my awesome powers of switching to JD and coke, and burning off the excess with plenty of Northern Soul dancing, I made it all the way through until 0530hrs on Sunday morning when it was only excrutiating foot pain (damn you, penny loafers!) that forced me to retire. Yes, retire my lovelies. But only for another four hours fitful sleep, for once again at 1000hrs I was up and in the cookhouse for "brunch", then oh, what to do, what to do? Fuck it let's go to the NAAFI and watch the footy. Back on the horse, only this time in the form of Smirnoff Ice, girl's drink but doesn't taste of alcohol, just what you need in this situation. Another afternoon on it, then down to a local bowling alley where I was introduced to a wonder of the modern drinking world, the "Bierturm" or "Beer Tower", a four foot high glass tube with a tap on the bottom that just keeps getting replaced the more you drink. Brilliant!! Fuck the bowling!! Having eaten a huge plate of Currywurst and chips just to ensure another fitful sleep, we eventually got back to the camp and I got my head down at about midnight.

Reveille was 0430hrs unfortunately, because we had to be at the airport for 0530hrs but hey, who the fuck needs sleep? Fast forward, blah blah, take the piss out of the locals at the airport one last time, Air Berlin, screaming kid a couple of rows in front, blah blah. I got home at 0900hrs, got changed, and went to work for the rest of the day. So you see my lovelies, even though I couldn't be there with you on such a special occasion, at least I wasn't strolling around Ikea holding a bird's hand.

See you soon Spence the Viking (not a Saxon) LC70 I think