Let them know it's Christmas

Last Wednesday was our varsity match against Northumbria, or the poly as it is more commonly known. The rugby club headed out to the stadium after sinking a few pints in the Lonsdale and witnessing Jonny Neville “chunder dragoning” his beer back up after a shot of whisky.  Let it be known that Jonny is not Scottish, we’d have none of that North of the boarder!

On arrival the poly army, as they call themselves were immediately vocal and to be honest, our crowd lost the chanting match for the first 10 minutes until finally the Newcastle fans began to step up to the plate.  Of course there were some old school chants like “unay, unay, unay”, which caught the imagination of most of our crowd but still lots of the “unay” remained seated and muted. However some cracking chants finally began to take hold, bringing everyone to their feet to start a class war, singing on behalf of the upper class irrespective of their upbringing. 

I took it upon myself to lead a couple of the songs:  “Feed the poly, let them know it’s Christmas time” and “the wheels on your house go round and round”. The poly took exception to this and retorted with “who’s the wanker in the fleece”. While they were mistaking my V-neck Jumper for a Fleece and calling me a wanker, one of  their members identified me and the shouts turned to “Agger is a cunt, is cunt, Agger is a cunt!”. Now not only were they identifying my torso garment incorrectly, they were getting my name wrong as well. Needless to say, I loved this and haven’t been able to stop singing it (Well do you have your own song? I didn’t think so). 

The thing that surprised me the most was how angry the poly were getting. While we would sing with smiles on our faces, facing in their generic direction at worse or out onto the field they would make eye contact with us and sing with as much rage as a football hooligan from the 80s. Spitting as they sing, crinkled foreheads and shaking fist. If one of them had ventured to our side of the barrier they would have been booed and potentially had a pint of piss launched at them, if one of us had gone to their side they would have been publically executed. This combined with the fact that I had already been recognised from the Sonny Bill Video on a night out and the notion that they now partially know my name terrifies me. I have nightmares of them beating me up one the ground shouting my name at me as I pathetically protest, “my name isn’t agger, please, if I’m gonna die I wanna go out known by the correct name”. At least I’ll die in the name of unay.

On the drunken stumble from Tiger Tiger to legends with two freshers, I bumped into a girl coming round a corner. I am told by the fresher’s I was getting with her within 15 seconds, UNAY. She said 

“So do you wanna come back to mine?”.

To which I replied “yeeeaaahh, but I really wanna go to legends”

“Legends is packed at the moment, you might as well come back to mine”

“that’s why I love legends…. So… errrr… we could go to a phone box?” She clearly though I was teasing her about the fact that I would prioritise legends over a good looking girl throwing herself at me, so she laughed flirtingly. I put forward the suggestion of a phone box again provoking this response.

“No, everyone I know who has done it in a phone box has got pregnant” Which raises some serious questions about the company she keeps. I thanked her for her time and ventured forth to legends, turning around after about  100 yards and saw her standing there with her mouth open and arms raised in pure shock. Got my priorities sorted I would say.

In legends I went straight to the Dance floor and began to throw people up in the air with Anthony Coupland, so they could grab the light beams to do pull ups, as we spent another week getting people kicked out. This week we were also making girls do it, the comedy being that most didn’t want to but girls are light enough pick up and launch upwards even though most of them hadn’t agreed.

Eventually I thought it was time for me to do it, so I did, I was three pull ups in and the bouncer appeared below me shouting for me to come down. I pulled myself up and lifted up my legs, I thought I was high enough up that he would start treating me like Felix the cat trying to get his dinner from the kitchen counter. Clearly this bar isn’t as high as I though because instead he started treating me like a kid treats a piñata, he just stood there punching me in the kidneys until I dropped then bundled me into a back staircase. “Ok, I’m leaving, I said”. This submission didn’t seem sufficient as he repeated pushed me into the steps every time I made an attempt to stand up and willingly leave. When I finally got to the door he grabbed me and threw me out in a way that was so cliché, like Barney Gumble being thrown out a bar by his collar and belt, I didn’t think it could have been more cliché, but then the bouncer shouted; 

“And stay out!” as he slammed the door.

Well, I didn’t stay out, I casually walked to the front door, and re-enter unimpeded and went back to getting people kicked out as they toned their lats.

On returning home I walked drunkenly out onto West Jesmond park in an attempt to catch a rabbit with my bare hands. I am not really sure why I did this but I think it has something to do with my deep seeded hate for animals. This hate for animals has come from my 5 earliest memories:

1.     When I was four my sisters forced me to throw a stick at a wasps nest then locked me out of the house. I was mesmerise by the ball of black and yellow that floated in front of me so stood and stared, I go stung on the eye ball.

         

      I came over a small hill when I was on a walk with my mum at the age of five, I was wearing bright red dungarees. There was a huge highland bull standing there and it started to charge, we ran all the way down the hill but I wasn’t fast enough to keep up so kept falling over. I was still holding my mums hand but was only just tall enough to do so, so every time I fell I would bounce back up to my feet due to the elastic nature of her arm during the terrifying sprint. 

3.      We had 13 guinea pigs and 3 rabbits, my sister bred and sold them. We would keep them in a large pen in the garden and take them in before dark. When I was five we went to a restaurant and it took longer than we expected, we arrived back after dark. My sister ran into the house screaming “they’re all dead”. I didn’t believe her because she is a criminal wind up merchant. Eventually however I went outside and true to her word they were all dead, heads and bodies severed everywhere and a fox on the wall with one still in its mouth squealing.

4.       When I was 6 I was three bowls into a pack of coco-pops when my sisters poured herself a bowl. Something fell out and she said  “ooo a…” but before she could say “a prize” she started screaming. It was in fact a dead mouse. I wasn’t sure what I was more upset about, the fact that I had shared my coco-pops with a mouse or that fact that coco-pops and mouse droppings are dangerously similar.

5.     When I was 7 my whole family and I were walking through one of my granny’s fields that had about 20 horses up the other end (not my granny’s horses, I’m not that posh). I was wearing my favourite dungarees again (fairly irrelevant this time). For some reason the horse began to stamp peed. Fortunately a fence was nearby and everyone jumped over to safety, they turned around to see me running as fast as a very fat 7 year old could (I was the fat kid), but I kept tripping over mole hills, my dad ran back in the field and threw me over the fence in the nick of time.

This is why I hate animals and probably why I went on a drunken rabbit genocide mission on Wednesday.

 The following Friday I found myself in the Den again. After last week’s blog about the man-sandwich many people pointed out to me that a sandwich is defined by its filling, not by its bread. So this week Anthony Coupland and I sought to man-sandwich men. To be fair this is how it initially started, a brief sandwich of women was only a tangent. We spotted a guy advancing on a girl and decided he was the prefect target “let the man-sandwich commence!” And so we did. This time we did not need to employ the tactic of driving it home, he immediately rose to the bait and grabbed me by the neck and pushed me into a wall and held me there. Although driving it home seemed unnecessary at this point it did not deter me, I started party-boying him while his hand was still around my neck. The fact that my wingman Coups was nowhere to be seen at this crucial point in the man-sandwich process did not matter. As I was smiling and dancing and he was angry and choking me he looked very much like the bad guy in this situation, 6 strangers, or good Samaritans as I should call them, ran to my aid and rammed this guy into a wall and subdued him until the bouncers arrived and kicked him out while all his friends apologised to me saying “he gets like this sometimes, I am so sorry”. Ill not lie, this left me confused and slightly guilty but really chuffed with my victim selection. 

Saturday resulted in me getting absolutely Gazeboed, walking around another cracking night in CCTV holding a sign saying “Read my blog” and trying to get it on the highlights video. Shameless PR. The state I was in left me convinced I could piggy back two people at a time, turns out I can’t, but what I can do is fall flat on my face and launch girls off my back down a flight of stairs.

This concludes this week’s blog, and potentially all my blogs. Although I think this one is perhaps less amusing, I hope you’ve enjoyed my previous blogs greatly. That is why I am saying I won’t write another blog until I raise my target amount of money for “Help the Hero’s”. Hannah Howie, James Slight and I will be doing Tough Guy in January and need this sponsorship to enter, and more importantly raise for the great cause and work that I am sure you know Help for Hero’s does. If everyone donates a pound who reads my blog we will be there in a seconds. Here’s the link

http://www.justgiving.com/Hannah-Howie0

Here’s the facebook group, if nothing else just read the funny poem Hannah and I wrote for the facebook group.

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=308893335790391

I wish you all Unay week.

Return of the man-sandwich

Last Friday was the first night out I’ve had whilst sporting my Movember. Beforehand I attempted to die my Mo a comically bright red, I say attempted as it had died my skin as well and left me looking like I had a horrific shaving rash on my upper lip. Things were looking less good than usual on the girl front as a result. However I replaced my weekly hounding of females with an ancient ritual called the man sandwich. Those of you unfamiliar with the man sandwich, here is a brief description. You and a friend go up to people and dance, one of you behind the person and one in front, and press yourself against them, much like a sandwich, often holding your friend to prevent the victim from escaping. Unay!

Anthony Coupland and I subsequently set ourselves upon the den to Man-sandwich our way to an unpopular and lonely night. Eventually we became bored of this and began dancing normally with a group of girls, harmless one would think. But one girl in the group took exception to this and started telling us to leave using rather unsavoury language. This was the moment we had been waiting for; we grabbed her friend and began to man-sandwich like we had never man-sandwiched before. I have genuinely never seen someone this angry, her eyes widened and her forehead wrinkled as she shouted herself into a fit of rage at the sight of us sandwiching her friend. Social etiquette would dictate that this is your moment to leave, but man-sandwich etiquette dictates you begin to do something we in the sandwich world like to call ‘driving it home’. Our ancient ritual became intense to the extent it was on line of aggressive perversion if there is such a thing. The girl who was already outraged at the mere fact that we danced with her group went absolutely bananas. No matter how many adjectives I use to describe her shouting in my face as we sandwiched her friend I don’t think you will ever be able to picture how angry this girl was, her mood only served to encourage us to drive it home further. Her mood then took an abrupt change, very unexpectedly she stopped being angry and shrugged her shoulders. Anthony and I looked at each other very confused and disappointed as our subject of amusement walked calming into the crowd. We then realise she was level headily talking to the bouncer and pointing at us, we panicked, ran into the middle of the dance floor and began to dance as though everything was normal (If there hadn’t been music I am sure one of us would have whistled inconspicuously) leaving the man-sandwiched girl probably very confused thinking “what just happened?”.

That Saturday I went CCTV with some of the rugby guys. It was a really funny night, like being at a school disco with a lot of booze (in a good way, I loved school discos and shall be attending CCTV as much as I can to relive the memories of my school days when I was good at things). I ended the night on the street trying to persuade a girl to come home with me. This is not uncommon for me. Although what was funny was my chat up lines, rather than the traditional “come home with me for a cup of coffee” or more forward “I’ll rock your world” I was as honest as a choir boy,  “come home with me and potentially I will rock your world, however, in this current state it is likely that I won’t be able to get it up, in fact it might be a miracle, are you willing to risk it for the outside chance I can perform? The last girl said…” At this point she left. Who said honesty was the best policy?

On Monday night, despite initially not planning on going out I was persuaded into it, something that is far too easy for my unay work, but not easy enough for my uni work. We went to Tup Tup. I got up on the small stage and danced with a few friends, my friends drew my attention to the fact that their trousers were down and they were dancing in their pants, very funny. I joined them in their “drop trou” antics but added a little extra.  I put my balls out of the bottom of my boxers. Girls would notice my trousers being round my ankles and laugh and smile then see my balls and their expressions would suddenly change, their smile would drop and their eye brows raise as they tried to work out what it was then their mouth would open. This was the comic reaction I was hoping for, however in my drunken state I became bored of this mild reaction and wanted more. I held onto a pole behind me and lent out into the crowd and would rub my testicles on the back of people’s heads so they would turn and scream in shock and disgust and run away which was very amusing for me and my friends. 

I rubbed my balls on the back of one girls head but in the hustle and bustle of a club dance floor she did not notice, so I did it harder, still she did not notice. I continued to do it. I looked up and a guy on the other side of the dance floor was looking at me with his mouth open and the side of his nose raised, I turned to my friends to bathe in their comic appreciation but they had lost interest and gone, the  guy started slowing shaking his head at me in judgement as it became apparent that due to the girl not noticing and my lack of friends I just looked like a man who enjoyed rubbing his balls on the back of peoples head for my own pleasure and was there by himself doing this. I tried to say, no, no wait. But it was too late. The guy was holding eye contact with me with an expression that said “you sick bastard”.

To be fair to him, even if the girl had reacted and I did have friends, it was still weird what I was doing, especially in hindsight. I’ve convinced myself I was pushing the boundaries of unay but in the name of sanity and not wanting to ruin anyone’s night I don’t think I’ll do it again.

Unfortunately I can’t remember much from Wednesday night except for being recognised in idols for the video the club made by people from Northumbria uni and given no end of abuse and then going to tiger where I “sonny billed” my Tiger Card back to Matt Proctor at every bouncer with great success, getting him in for free. Unfortunately this got us both a lot of free drinks thus my night ends with a table full of doubles I did not need. If you don’t understand this paragraph watch this video and both abuse I receive and “sonny billing” will be explained

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZKmrs77hr4

Here ends another Unay blog, my actions have been somewhat strange as I try and justify completely inappropriate banter as unay, but I hope you are amused by them.

I wish you all a Unay week.

PS, get along to clash of the titans to see something really unay, as we crush Northumbia 

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=144194772349124

Don't get between Harry Martin and a Pizza

Unfortunately this was a less entertaining week.  However, some stories did arise. Before I start I would just like to say, my Mum reads my blog, so obviously Mum all of the below is made up but for everyone else….. well… UNAY!

On our gander from tiger tiger to legends on the Wednesday before last Henry King thought it would be unay to push a large wheely bin into the middle of the road to cause a traffic jam. He had no idea how unay it would be until he realised that the first car in the traffic jam was a police car. Matt Proctor and I watched from a distance as Henry apologetically wheeled the bin back to its original place with his tail between his legs as the police followed a few yards behind waiting to give him a bollocking. He gave them a small wave as he passed them thinking this would all make it ok but was called back. Fair Play to Henry, on the spot he came up with a good excuse. “I’m in the Northumbria initiation and they made me do it”, he was let off scot free! Unay.

That Friday I went out with some of the rugby boys and a couple of girls I know from home (yeah, that’s right, I know a couple of girls, it’s a big deal for me). After pursuing one of the girls for quite a while I ended up getting with the other one, we kissed for quite a long time and I realised the  situation was going the way most 20 year old boys would like it to go. However, I thought “who am I kidding, I can get it up in this state” (let’s just say I had had 1 too many Bacardi breezers and was on the wrong side of the limit). So I decided to leave for some food.

Nik Pass, Harry Martin and I all left together. At this point Harry suggested that we go to Muchies as it does a fine BBQ chicken pizza. The only problem was that munchies was miles away so Nik and I put forward the idea of going to Yummies instead as it is much closer. This is when we met a different side to Harry Martin, the usually docile friendly neighbourhood Irishman turned into a mixture of a raging bull and a spoilt child. 

“I want to go to Munchies” Wailed Harry, “I swear to god, we could fucking be there by now if you two women hadn’t been chattin’” he screamed as he stomped his feet, and my favourite “I swear to god, if I have to get a fucking vegetarian pizza from Yummies because you two can’t be bothered to walk to munchies” . Needless to say Nik and I were bemused, confused and greatly entertained by this outburst.

Eventually he agreed to go to Yummies. Nik and I waited in the bus stop outside. As we did so we heard thunderous footsteps behind us, we turned around to see Harry sprinting in the direction of Munchies. Later he revealed that he put his head out the door, saw us both sitting there and attempted to sneak past us to Munchies. He was going to return (probably about 30 to 45 minutes later) and say, sorry guys the queue in

Yummies was huge. For those of you who don’t know Harry, he is a 16 stone plus, 1^st XV prop.  As a consequence his attempt to “sneak” past us at 100 miles an hour was about as stealthy as a steam train passing you that you are already expecting to go pass you.

Here concludes this week’s blog, I realise the tone is a bit different from last week (it’s not my fault this blog is getting me laid) but I hope you still find it funny.

 I wish you all a unay week.

P.S if you are a rugby fan, watch this vid, very very funny and featuring yours truely   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZKmrs77hr4

Is it unay to finish the night alone?

So last week’s social was with the Cheerleaders, which in it's self seems funny to me: put the rugby jocks with the cheerleaders and see what happens, unay! Well, for me, nothing happened in that respect. My lack of ability to talk to girls was highlighted as I stood alone in flares awkwardly staring at the cheerleaders from a distance thinking to myself the all the cheerleaders were really small, this means that either they have a really unstable pyramid or that the base of the pyramid decided that the 2 for 1 offer on ben and jerry's couldn't wait but the social could, and thus hadn’t turned up, which was gutting as i just bought a new pack of condoms and was banking on her appearing.  

Eventually Boxy noticed the 5 meter radius of nothing that had formed around me and took pity, he introduced me to a girl. Following the "Mark this is so and so, nice to meet you" there was a long silence as I contemplated which would be better, to go down the conventional (but really boring) root of "how are you, where are you from", or to ask a bunch of questions like "which power ranger would you be" to try and be funny. Instead this internal debate took far far too long and just left us staring at each other until, without saying anything she turned around and walked away leaving me once again with just Boxy and Abba playing in the background. If you are wondering I would be the red power Ranger, because i am a white middle class Christian, leaving me little other choice (if this confuses you refer back to the ethnic background of the power rangers, they are a diverse group of young people, but quickly learn the hierarchy that unfortunately lives in modern America, as the white man leads the Girl pink power ranger, the Asian yellow power ranger, the Black black power range, and the Jewish Green power ranger, like the colour of money, it’s just not right).

Still this did not deter me, I thought I could fall back on a chant that has propelled me to stardom within the small group of people that are the NURFC, that is "give me a U, give me a NAY, and what have you got UNAY". This would always get a laugh, and attention: exactly what I need to gain a look or two from the cheerleaders. So, as we left flares I ran to the head of the group and shouted "give me a U....", no reply! For the first time, no one was interested in my fairly limited chanting, not even the freshers, who I had spent so many handshakes introducing myself on. In my drunken state I decided the problem was the U was not long enough, the comic and charismatic effect was lost on the short U, so i began to shout "UUUUUUU......" as I did so I caught a cheerleaders eye, I gave her a friendly wink and a point whilst continuing to call "UUUU..." she moved on as the look turn to a look of confusion and fear. Once she moved on  realise I had held the U for to long and combined with the point I look like a man, standing completely by myself pointing at her shouting "YOU!".

In Players, as I stared at the dancer for even longer than it took America too find Osama, I realised that everyone in the social was staring, even the cheerleaders, some in a very cliche mouth open kinda way, very little conversation was exchanged in Players. Here after my memory of the night becomes dodgy at best, except for feeling really annoyed when the PR guys in Tiger Tiger thought it would be fun to spray free Champagne on the audience. To be fair, it was fun for the 3 seconds it sprayed then I was sticky, which was only detrimental my chances with women. Like I needed that.

The following Wednesday was far less eventful as the rugby club were alone. However, towards the end of the night, when only the hardcore remained, Matt Proctor and I noticed a beam supporting the lights above the dance floor. We would stop fellow clubbers and play on their ego’s by saying “Mate, bet you can’t do pulls ups”, they would immediately rise to the bait. So we would lift them up and they would do pull ups, as soon as they hit the ground the bouncers would kick them out, I recon we got 1/3 of the dance floor kicked out (there weren’t many people there in the first place by this stage). Ironically, when we decided it  was time  for us  to leave we did pull ups to get our self’s kicked out, but all the bouncers were occupied dealing with people who we had tricked into doing the said pull ups so Proctor and I ended up staying an extra half hour.

Now as I sit hung over, I wonder whether or not people will find the rantings of a man who can’t get with girls, and couldn’t get it up if the situation arouse anyway, funny at all. I look forward to next week as Unay continues to eat away at my uni.