The Daz Night Club Challenge

There was a time when The Beard did not exist.  This time shall be forth known as; Pre Beard.  During this time, The Juvenile Beard stalked the land of night clubs, searching for weak nightclubs and pubs.  In other words, drinking establishments that turned a blind eye to under age drinking.

I am happy to report that I found several, with the aid of a few good men who were of the same mind.

On one occasion I was with my best buddy, Baz.  We had availed ourselves of several weak pubs and had made our way on to my home town's major weak club.  Presenting our Ashton Athletic fake IDs, we made it inside, to find a whole load of our college buddies.  All of which, were worse for wear.  Baz and I wasted no time at all.  Soon enough The Juvenile Beard was happily feeling the effects of social confusion.

I hopped up onto the stage area of the club, which had a bannister between me and the stage.  I started to bop away to the finest Mancunian indie pop available, when all of a sudden, I saw 2 (yeah 2!!) pairs of feminine hands clutching me from behind (in a good way). 

I turned round and lets say....got involved, only to find a further 2 Doris' game for some Juvenile Beard aswell.  Now as you can imagine, I was fairly pleased.  None of the other lads had got so much as a bite on the line, and here I was being gang groped by (what I thought) the best my home town could offer.  And for a young lad, in my situation, in those days, that was quite the social victory.

So, imagine my surprise when my good friend Baz, hops onto the bannister and literally demands that I get down.  I politely inform him that there will be no such action, from The Juvenile Beard.  At which point he punches me with considerable effort, right in the jaw.  I was quite taken aback, and a bit unsure of my next move.  

Baz then said "If you don't tell that bird to fuck off, you'll regret it" 

I consider that I am quite drunk at this point, and unlikely to do well in a bout of pugilism.  Luckily he fucked off, as quickly as he appeared.  Leaving me a bit bemused.

Anyway, the night came to a close, and I spend the next 2 hours zig zagging through the streets, on the hour long walk back to my house.  Then Kebab, bed, tidy.

I wake up the next morning, and head off to college.  I was sitting in the college common room, wondering why my jaw hurts so much when I saw Danny Baker (of the Daz Doorstep Challenge fame) walk past me.  Now it's not the first time, I've seen odd things after a good binge drink, but it did catch me as strange.  Then it happened again, and again.  I only noticed on the third round, that Baker was wearing a rather large floral skirt.  Then Baker starts to point at me and stare, talking to 3 other Doris' that could be mistaken for Les Dawson, Alf Garnet, and Jo Brand.  Luckily Baz walks over and fills me in.  Baker and her ogre friends are in fact the 4 willing Doris' from the night before.  He's been round to see his mates, who know them.  He is clearly beside himself with amusement at my misfortune, and is only too eager to tell all and sundry exactly what happened.  His most interesting fact about Baker?  that she is too fat to buy trousers, and has to have the floral skirts especially made.  Magic.

The moral of the story?  just don't fucking drink too much in the mid 90s.