I sent this out to a select body of ne'er-do-wells a week ago. *************** A certain date is fast approaching. It is not a date whose significance I like to dwell on, and the number of elapsed years associated with it is a matter on which my recollection is unreliable. Those of you with better memories, however, may recall that this date has in recent years often provided a convenient pretext for alcohol-centred revelries. And I see no reason why this year should be any different. Yes, it's a Tuesday. I'm sorry. The tyranny of the calendar! I'm a bit of a stickler for commemorating anniversaries on the actual day of the anniversary. If you pussy out on me because "Wednesday is a big day at work", you will receive full measure of scorn and derision. *************** If you didn't receive this, you're not invited. Sorry. Ah, has it really been another year already? |
Monday, October 19, 2009
The invitation
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5 comments:
[1] It is not The Night of a Thousand Cans as that was a summer event
[2] It may well be a birthday...I remember a fine drink or eight at a certain College this time 26 years ago.
I also remember one of two of the Marlbro's being 'unused to strong drink' but that is another story.
Ready Brek, Pyrrhocorax?
Er, sorry. I know you wanted to spell your screen name as above, but.... well, it really was a fuck-up by Blogger, not me. Anyway, the wrong one got deleted.
I don't think it was really 26 years ago, was it? Maybe something close. I don't want to be thinking about that just at the moment.
I suspect the party you have in mind was the one where The Bookseller so disgraced himself (or, rather, primed himself for later disgrace), which I commemorated here - http://thebarprop.blogspot.com/2008/10/lobotomy.html.
The Night of a Thousand Tins as I recall it was on Pembroke Sports Ground and also inaugurated the MCC - the Midnight Cricket Club.
A great night!
Well, our memories may be divergent here.
The Night of 1,000 Tins was a concept only. It never actually came to fruition - at least, not under my direction, though I have heard rumours that others were inspired to take up the idea after I had departed the Dreaming Spires.
The closest I ever came was probably the summer party at my Binsey Lane house (I don't think you were around for that one, Nags), which marked my return to the ways of booziness after a six-week abstinence. I drove down to Cornwall with Ned the next day (I forget why), and so was a little mystified to discover on my return 24 hours later that I was in deep shit with my girlie housemates over the blocked toilet, with my landlord over the broken pane of glass in the front door, and with my JCR President (now the Foreign Secretary) over a mysterious efflorescence of regurgitated strawberries in one of the bathrooms in college.
It may indeed have been after you left or when you were teaching or something but there was definitely an event in the early '90s. We drank a lot of tins but I think that when tallied up we didn't get to 1,000.
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