Here lies a collection of photos which were never meant to be seen. But, since we've shown plenty of other drunk, naked photos of ourselves in the past, we thought we'd do it again. JT's batchelor life was weeks from ending, which meant an excellent chance for a lads-only weekend in Glorious Newquay. As it was JT's last serious drinking session as a singleton, we thought this was a brilliant chance to get him smashed, find some women... and - as usual - embarrass Moley. Enjoy.
We stayed at the Sunnyside campsite just outside Newquay. Catering for young groups with it's own bars, pool, nightclubs and a regular bus service until the early hours, this is an ideal place to base yourself if you're up for a fairly large part-tay. We arrived in the late afternoon on a very windy August day. We were sent to a fairly quiet field at the far end of the site (which was probably for the better!) With views for miles around, it was an absolute bugger trying to get the tents to stay up. Apart from for Plumby who managed to get his up in record time. He then got on with his tent.
It was a fair few hours to drive down to the depths of Cornwall, so we entertained ourselves by being irresponsible on the highways. Pulling mooneys and sharing chocolate bars at 80 miles an hour is never a good thing. While stuck in traffic, we thought it a good idea to stretch our legs on the dual carriageway, and offer the people in our neighbouring cars a beer or two. They weren't that impressed by that. They also weren't that amused when we started throwing sweets at each other. The traffic started moving again and we came across a hitch-hiker. His name was Frank, we found him naked all but for a white stripe, standing by the roadside. We gave him a coat and a hat, sat him in the back seat and continued on our journey. Pictured to the left is Frank, holding onto our bog roll reinforcements. Andy shows off his talent for creating intense wind power by farting at Frank, sending the toilet roll flying through the breeze. As you can see, the field wasn't particularly busy which was a good job... the stench would have caused a riot!
Moley enjoys a cup of camp-fire made tea in his special 'spill-free' container. It took him 45 minutes to make as the wind kept blowing out his camping stove. Because of the wait he was insistent on enjoying every drop of it, despite it looking less like tea than a puddle of piss with a used teabag thrown in. With his copy of Nuts and scary sandals, he settles down to a peaceful weekend, knowing that JT will be the centre of attention. (Note: there are no pics of JT here!)
We left Frank in charge of the campsite and headed into the centre of Newquay. The weather brightened up somewhat on our arrival in the town. We wanted rain - it meant less time walking between pubs and more time actually in the pubs. We managed to find ourselves a burger joint, filled up on random meat and onions, then headed for the first bar. Took these two pics as we were finding our bearings. A pointless exercise as by the end of the night we wouldn't have been able to come up with a bearing between us.
It's worth pointing out that the reason we chose Newquay was because there was a sex show taking place that weekend - ideal for a stag weekend we thought. However, the show was cancelled a couple of weeks before. We decided that a little problem with the entertainment wasn't going to put us off and so we headed down there regardless, determined to provide our own amusement.
Think this was our second stop in the burger bar and Ritchie's fourth burger stop since we started our trek the day before. Over the cause of the weekend young Plumby survived on nothing but burgers and a fry-up. The rest of us were being more open to other cultures... by living off Cornish pasties and alcohol. Here, a random hand tries to lead Craig's bun astray. It looks like Moley's hand but we know for a fact that he was too busy trying to chat up the women behind the counter.
Not sure what she's reaching for hear, but she's going to have a dig as lot deeper to find it! This lovely lass was spending her evening giving massages to drunken groups of men for money. With an uncanny knack of spotting which groups had the most cash on them, she seemed to be 'just passing' every pub we went into. JT had a go first, closely followed by Moley. Later on in the evening, Bumble and Andy also had a quick feel. We're not sure how you're suppose to be able to relax in a pub full of revellers, but it was worth it just for the bit where you lean back for a head rub.
This pic was taken later in the evening when the masseuse caught up with us again, looking for a few more pennies. Not sure why Andy's trying to hide away - probably embarrassed about sitting next to Gaz. She finds us again (below) in yet another establishment much later on in the evening. After making more cash from us than we make combined in a month, she calls it a night.
While walking down the main street, Plumby comes across the Plum Tree. We also have pictures of Ritchie in the town of Plumbland, the district of Knob Flat and by a river in Cockermouth. I'm sure we could put a book together with this material! As you can see, this pic was taken outside . I think that's written in Cornish!
After a few pints, we headed back to the burger bar where Moley was given a little balloon. I know it doesn't look very small, but the perspective of Moley's size confuses everything. Attached was a phone number for the takeaway. Thinking it was a number for the young lass behind the counter, Moley treasured and looked after that little inflatable... for about half an hour when it was sadly taken away from him.
It's that hairy arm again! I know normally we'd give you an idea of which pubs we were in and how much we enjoyed drinking in there. That's not possible this time because none of us can remember where we went. That's why the photos are placed in such a random order. This was a big nightclub-type place. That's all I can remember. We went back to the burger bar after this, and then we went to a pub in the lower part of the town centre which had some outside heating. There was a pole-dancer shaking her tail-feathers on the opposite side of the road. We were far too busy for any of that malarkey... we'd found a place with a big bar (no less queueing), a team of ladies selling liquors (no queueing at all). But it was a right bastard to get to the bogs (so much queueing it would have been quicker to piss in the sea). Picture left: Ali and Craig after ten minutes. Not sure where the Fruit Shoot came from!
Feeling neglected by the disappearance of our masseuse, Gaz takes matters into his own hands by persuading Andy into a quickie. Below: The eyes say it all - if you see this man, give him your beer and run.
Would you believe Moley is stood on tiptoes to see what he was doing. He still couldn't reach the slot. Where have we heard that before? Baaa
Here's one to try for yourselves. Find a bar with one of those giant, scrolling signs which advertises upcoming features and drink prices. Get a drink in a pub on the opposite side of the road, making sure you can clearly read the sign. Sit your friend between you and the sign. Without arousing suspicion, read the scrolling sign in it's entireity, picking out a particular bit that can be misread as an innuendo. Tell your friend to pose for the camera, wait for the right moment, and SNAP! You'll get a stunning picture of your friend, complete with caption. In this case, Moley is tonight offering Free Entry. Try it yourself, send us a copy (jon@thejackdaw.com) and we'll put it online!
Bumble has a peek at Cleopatra's amazing photo of two of her friends under a BUY ONE GET ONE FREE banner. By friends, I mean breasts. I've drank too much tea - these weird colours are making my head hurt. My cat's licking my arm in that weird, sandpaper way. Think I might need a break from writing these captions.
Okay, better now. We stopped off for another burger and then headed back to the bus stop to get the last ride back to the campsite. While we're all stood behind a group of girls passed out on the kerbside showing their thongs to the world, Moley goes off into a quiet corner and starts talking to Ritchie about how he would have pulled those burgerbar girls if it wasn't for that anonymous arm. Ritchie responds by telling him about a zoo he went to last week. It's star attraction was a small dog that could do backflips. It was a shih tzu. (Say it out loud, it's funnier.)
Code of Conduct No 4: Public Broadcasting of Stag Night Bus Journeys: "Whatever is said on the bus, stays on the bus."
This picture was taken back at the camp site. It sums up the weekend very well.
As is traditional with Ali, he strips bollock naked in the rain at two in the morning. He throws his clothes into Jim's tent (behind). Seeing his chance, Gaz goes for the pile of cast-offs and tries to make a run for it. Ali however is too quick for him. This ends with Jim on his back, squashed by Gaz who's holding a pile of clothes, who is then squashed by Ali wearing nothing but his watch. The three of them didn't come out until daylight. On a more serious note, none of us got much sleep, because of Andy's routine snoring. We were making matters worse by throwing shoes, cans and debris at Andy's tent, while screaming "Andy, Shut Up". This somehow made him snore louding, and so our screams began to get louder.
As Andy's snoring and our chanting intensified, a little faminine voice carried itself across the field: "We're trying to sleep over here"... the responce from our side was "Sit on my face and say that". Eventually we fell asleep, which was a mistake. As while we got rid of our hangovers, our fellow campers covered our circle of tents with bog roll, rubbish, and bits of old tent. We woke up to find ourselves in an absolute state while the rest of the field looked immaculate. More distressing was that Frank had left us. We like to think that he had hitched himself a ride elsewhere and continues to tour the country with drunken hooligans out for a good time.
Before the drinking began, we offered the gods of hangovers a sacrifice so our heads would be free from thumping in the morn. Bizarrely, the further Moley ran out to sea, the further the waves vanished towards the horizon!
Would you believe that just two weeks after our visit to Newquay, that house (centre), the island and bridge went up for sale because the residents could no longer bear the rowdiness of the town. Nothing to do with us of course!
As you'd expect for a weekend drinking binge, the weather started to worsen as we headed into town. Grey skies a plenty. It was a bit windy from that vantage point - that might have been Andy.
A warning to any passing mermaids.
And after all of that, there were no serious hangovers - the morning after we had a fry-up, burger and pasty... then we found ourselves a lovely traditional British pub where we bit the hair of the dog with some local ale, and then took it in turns to block up their bogs with some highly impressive beer bombs. This highly classy affair was very much unlike the eve of the wedding when JT got absolutely smashed, Gaz got a police caution for pissing in a skip and the whole evening descended into chaos. Pity we didn't have a camera on that night!
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