It had been a while since we had a chance to get away from San Antonio, and right now we had a plan.
We pulled over to take in the vista, a beautifully sized beach that took it's form from the natural rock formations and surrounding hills. There were two women who had decided to do the same and after some broken 'spanglish' had informed us they were hungry. We let them slip away, knowing the day was going to be a good one. Down on the beach we set us and already gave chase into the alluring blue charms of the great sea. We're all straight in, larking about and making waves and chatting to the girls. The frisbee makes it's first appearance and it soon becomes the only sport we care to play.
The sun was hot, the women were hotter.
As I rolled my usual, and reflected on the time I had ahead of me I sat with Wilson, James and Ben and joked about what tonight would hold. We knew it was 'Club 18-30' in which meant '50 Cent' night.
This involved each and every participating (usually 250 minimum) packed into the bar, with a thirsty belly. It was a laugh, and at times quite demanding especially if Ben was working. You see, the thing with Ben is that working meant something different to what it should mean. It starts like this, we open us, get the lights on. Where's Ben? He's checking his hair for the hundredth time in the girls loos. This is just the start, he was the start. The start of two belts. Two selectas (vests to you and I) and yes, two birds. He was, and still is one of the most hated amongst the boys and rightly so - he's a cunt. But I won't let you say that about him in my company ohhh no.
Ben and myself have always had a good relationship, on one hand I can't stand him and with good reference but one the other hand, he's like the little brother I've never had and with that I'll always watch out for him. Here we are outside - remember this one Ben?
So, with the bar packed, the whistle blows and the 'All-ABUSIVE' starts. Before we all begin, Jaffa our resident compare, and DJ (Yes, he does play music) states out the rules. Note to mention, although Jaffa is the tightest bloke (Also known as JANUS) I've met, he's a great DJ and gets the party going night after night, week in, week out. He still has my mountain bike and I'm certain he'll be good for the money when I catch up with him. Cough Cough.
- First of all, if you lose your plastic beaker/cup you can fuck off.
- Secondly, if you bang your beaker on the bar you will not get served.
- Thirdly, if you're standing when you leave then you haven't been drinking here.
- So, without further ado LET'S GET FUCKING LEATHERED!!!
And with that, the bar erupts with a big cheer. The music turns up and the bar is going mental. As always, we start off by serving all the women. There is never a complaint about this from the other patrons but on the few and very rare occasions this has happened on my watch, we have stopped all bar staff, and with the watching patrons we then ask why on earth are we going to serve you, when there are women that what a drink? In all fairness, this point really does add the the great atmosphere this night creates. Everyone waits patiently and they never mind waiting again. We at Sgt. Peppers know how to look after the women.
When we do get around the the blokes, we get some shots going - And why not, it's all about having a good drink and with that, and 60 shot glass distributed amongst the patient (and thirsty) drinkers we set to raise the roof. Having 60 blokes (bar staff included) sharing a shot works magic. From this point on, they understand us, and we understand them so without further ado we serve Vodka like it could never be served back home and the place sets in to a crazy rhythm.
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Share your experiences at Sgt. Peppers...Thank you, Carlos Fandango