(Blah blah blah stuff about dónall skip this paragraph if u don’t care or are Col….)
I have moved up in the world and become a posh sort of cove. I may have to change my religion and renounce the Catholic faith… The reason is that I got a business class flight to Nantes. There was champagne. There were hot towels. There was a nice 2004 Rioja with my meal (which involved some tortilla and some particularly arch exemplars of congealed dead pig leftovers).
But that has nothing to do with the story.
I arrived in Nantes and met Jiggles in the airport. She had met a bunch of English people who went by the name of “The Monsters”. One of their number, a cove called Chef, would spend the rest of the weekend hanging out with us. Obviously we’re just a really cool team. Either that or we had brought some cute females with us.
When we got to Nantes, we met Clíodhna’s baggage at the train station. After a few minutes searching, it was discovered that Clíodhna was somewhere underneath all this baggage. It wasn’t long before I came up with a new entry for the list of things that Clíodhna does not like. It seems that pushing her over when her bags are causing her to be off balance is way up there with being patted on the head and being called Spanky. Who would have thunk it?
Anyways, we went to the hostel and then went out for some beers. It was discovered that Gary had been shafted by Ryanair and would be spending the night in Paris watching porn. The Bingers present decided to go to bed early- but soon realised that its captain drinking binge and not captain sleeping binge so they went to explore the Nantes nightlife. We went to a joint called the Live Bar and discovered that the French like to desecrate their beer with fruit flavouring. No wonder the Germans keep invading them. Whiskeys were consumed, punk music was listened to, the flaws of democracy and the relative merits of anarcho-syndicalism were discussed (honestly). Action photos were taken. Bed was gone to.
The following morning we went to a mediaeval weapons shop and looked at swords. It was awesome. Awesome to the max. Swords are just all kinds of cool.
Anyway, after the sword shop we stormed the castle. The French had foolishly left only a small garrison of schoolchildren to defend it and it soon fell to the Binge onslaught. We paraded around the walls in victory, then retired to a local café for some gallettes and crêpes, as is traditional in France after successfully laying siege to any major fortification.
I felt that, resplendent as I had been in my jewelled battle-shorts (a beer for the first person to get the reference), I could use a new pair, so I brought the clittoratti short shopping. It seems that dark shorts should not be worn with the dark green Bravas top. As I write, I am wearing that exact combination (sorry).
As we were continuing to stroll through the old city of Nantes, it decided to rain heavily. The “it” in this case does not refer to the old city of Nantes. It refers to the forces of nature, who are of course non-sentient and so are not capable of arbitrarily deciding whether or not to rain. In fact, a better sentence would have been "the forces of nature were compelled to rain on us, through no choice of their own, due to the immutable laws of physics".
The point is that we got comprehensively wet (although Jiggles had a head start on us, what with being in France and all) and so we headed to the station where we met Gary, and eventually Shiv and Tony. Then there were six.
The remaining five Bingers (recorded here, for the sake of posterity, as being Michéal, Col, Bobby Mac, Louise and Shane) were now on their way from Roscoff, having sailed from Rosslare the night before, being the sort of jaunty sailor types who can afford to take extra time off to plough the ocean wave. Aboard the good ship Moorbeg the young seamen started to suffer from Cabin Fever after some time and Colin began throwing m&m’s. Bobby mac was engrossed in a very important book at the time (the international rules of Rock Paper Scissors) and didn’t appreciate the m&m throwing- but then they were the peanut kind- assessing the situation carefully and rationally he decided that retaliating with a deodorant can to the head would best convey his slight annoyance at the interruption to his reading. Of course Col had to go and overreact by starting to bleed. Luckily Dr. Blobert “8 cards” McKenzkie was on board to patch him up.
After walking the plank they were forced to get the train as the car rental outfit refused to rent a car to Micheal (and let’s face it, he’s a dodgy looking fucker – would you really trust him with a couple of tons of speeding metal?? (everybody except Micheal should now be laughing at the joke – Micheal himself will probably be playing air drums to some speed metal)).
Upon arrival in Le Pouliguen, we repaired to the local shopping emporium for to buy provisions, such as gummy sweets, beer, boxes of wine, a beach ball (which never saw the beach) and, in Jiggles' case, some hair clips to replace the ones she had lost, which she then proceeded to lose.
We returned to the guesthouse and met up with the rest of the Bingers. There was much rejoicing and we slaughtered a fattened calf for the feast. There are other biblical references that I could stick in here, but I don’t think anybody ever gets them. Philistines (geddit???). From his travels at sea Shane brought us news of wendells and melvins and moorbegs, oh my!, This D4 vocab would receive a few more additions over the course of the weekend
As the sun went down over Le- Pouligen bay the Binge began to binge. We drank free wine and ate hot-dog gallettes (bizarre, but tasty). We danced the safety dance, we gave people the stick and didn’t give people the stick, because Hey- they weren’t our dads. Ohhhhhhhh!
Some strange game involving a couple of discs and a nerf toy was masterminded. Marry, Fuck, Kill was played. Gary did something completely out of character and got naked- we were all shocked. (who bet 11pm on the Friday???!) Naked Gary befriended a strange naked French boy and in an effort to top his antics from last year they made Gary goes swimming part2! (now with 100% more characters and extra nudity). ….and yet he still managed to look more presentable than Col who wore superman PJs to the beach.
The party started to dissipate and the Binge headed to the park to play on the swings.
There were no swings. But it sounds better than “The Binge headed to the park to act like eejits”. There is such a thing as poetic license. Fuck off if you’re looking for a factual account.
While in the park, we were joined by a dog, who introduced himself as "Towelie", which was odd, considering. Considering what? Exactly. Macken insisted that Towelie wanted to be inside the playground, and closed the gate. Gary insisted he wanted to be set free. Shane insisted he had a poofy tail, and I (shiv) insisted that his ears were surprisingly close together. Dónall insisted that cats are better than dogs…but we all insisted that Towelie was the worst character ever!
There was some super extreme see-sawing and after the fun index of the park was exhausted (the clue for the fun index of a park being exhausted, for future reference, is when Jiggles falls asleep on the slide) we returned to the guesthouse. Towelie followed. After the fun index of having a stray dog in one's bedroom was exhausted (the clue is that there is, in fact, a stray dog in your bedroom), Towelie was expelled and the door was locked. Five minutes later, Towelie returned. He’s a smart dog. Correction: He was a smart dog. Gary, fearing that the rest of the Binge would discover that the dog was, in fact, smarter than him, brought Towelie out to “take care” of him. (Al pacino way and not Julie Andrews way ) He was never seen again….
The Binge is composed mostly of opportunistic bastards with no morals who would sell their own grandmother for glue, and in fact probably already have. As such, your humble author (Dónall) was unanimously elected as Captain of the Binge as the last order of business on Friday night. The reason for this, of course, being that there was a captains’ meeting the following morning at 10 of the hungover morning clock. The request to be addressed exclusively as “Oh, Captain, My Captain” was roundly ignored. I would have settled for just “Walt”.
(O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful binge is done;
The liver weather’d every shot, the buzz we sought is won;
The end is near, the bells I hear, the barman calls last orders,
While follow eyes with unsteady gaze, the taps of beers and porters:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of beer,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Passed out on his ear.
With apologies to Mr. Whitman) (will people get this reference? - Shiv)
As it turned out, your increasingly less humble author was up at that time anyway and so the meeting was attended by myself and Jiggles (who was awfully responsible all weekend – Duffman must be rubbing off on her. Also, she must be picking up some of Duffman’s personality characteristics).
The Binge was mustered for our first game of the day, Micheal got all sensible on us and decided we should do a full warm up together followed by a little talk about tactics. We lost the game (and now you too have lost ‘the game’). So we scrapped the warm-up idea and had some beers before the 2nd game. We lost that too-but decided since it made no difference beers were better than warm-ups- So we had some beers and lost our third game of the day.
This was set to be a recurring trend all weekend. We were actually outfoxed by the last team. I (Dónall) met one of their number in the bathroom (never trust a man who talks to you while he’s pissing in the urinal next to you). He remembered some of us from Mallorca (I think you’ll fiiiiind its pronounced Mal-orka and not Ma-Jorka) and he said that his team was going to be very drunk by the end of the day. So naturally, we decided to do something similar. The only problem is that he was lying and they were all sober as bastards. We probably would have lost anyway. The Binge suffered greatly all weekend from a severe shortage of competent handlers, a poorly structured offence and crippling winds. Our zone defence, however, was excellent.
After the unpleasant business with the ultimate was concluded, it was time for the real reason we had all returned to YBN… the water park!!!! (Note to people who have had their sense of humour surgically removed: The previous statement should be taken to be tongue-in-cheek). They tried to clamp down on the slide shenanigans this year and announced a limit of two people on the slide, but eventually the guy who was being a prick about it left and so we went at it old school- as many people and as many different ways we could think of to slide. Miraculously, nobody was harmed this year either. The only injury of the day was when Old Man Tony decided to see if he could knock a hole in the bottom of the swimming pool using only his nose. The moral of the story is that you should leave the penguin diving to the trained professionals ;). Post water park, there were the usual shenanigans. We drank some beer/wine and headed out to same ristorante as last year. The food was generally good apart from the stinky mussels from the stinky sea(I think you’ll fiiiiind its pronounced Moules-which became added to shanes d4 vocab for the night, “you smell like a total moule”), and Jiggles was definitely a little miffed when her pizza turned out to be cheeseless (not even a bit of Gorgonzola loike!) When we were all satisfied, we hit one of the local bars. The only downside of this bar was a jerk called Reginald who kept on talking a load of shit. But I think Gary should tell that story…
It ended up being just me (Dónall) and Gary in the bar at the end of the night. As I left, I got the attention of all the people in the bar, somehow, and announced to them all that Reginald was a drunken fool (which was iron-like, considering that I had reached a similar state). It made sense at the time.
Anyway, we left and we met a couple of French gays. (I may have changed a vowel there to make the story more interesting- Shiv aka editor)We drank their beer for a while and then we headed home. When we got back, we had to climb the gate, because we were drunk and couldn’t work out how to open it. It was one of those nights.
While Dónall and Gary were off chatting up French boys a discussion did break out about what they were up to and how it would work if Gary and Dónall were to hook up. Also the reason they had to climb the gate is that Michéal and I thought it would be funny to close it…it was! There was then an animated discussion about politics but the less said about that, the better (Except that, in my defence, I(Dónall) did NOT bring it up). (Dónall definitely brought it up- he also corrected my pronunciation of things during the discussion- Shiv (Fuck you Shiv, you West Brit! - Dónall))
Sleep.
We got up, we played some Frisbee in the pouring rain for some parts- to cut a short story shorter we lost all our games again! Col Shane and Rob disappeared for a while in the middle of the day- and came back in great form- calling it the one beer buzz. (or 3 or 4). We actually played ok in the game that followed but obviously still lost as stated. We drank some more beers. Thus the day of ultimate was concluded (that was quick!).
The Binge returned to the guesthouse for to get ready for the party, did just that, some of the more heroic Bingers jogged to the ATM and back just in time for the bus. The bus was piled onto, costumes were donned, ears and tails were attached, Faces were painted, Gary was all tuckered out from his run to the ATM so was too tired to notice that he got blue and red spots instead of black ones. Bobby Mac decided he wanted full make up including eye liner and black lipstick to go with his ensemble resulting in possibly the sleaziest looking dog ever known to man (it is a fact, well known to those who know it well, that Bobby Mac always wears make-up to the party at ultimate tournaments, regardless of the theme).
We arrived at the Noir & Blanc nightclub to discover that we were the only team to have made the effort, costume-wise. I think we would have remembered this problem from last year had it not been for ESIS' mime shenanigans, which considerably raised the costumed index at the time.
In any case, we entered the club, fashionably late, to a round of applause and a chorus of “Who let the dogs out?” (this was mostly due to the fact that we were dressed as 101 Dalmatians, and only partly because we’re such a startlingly ugly bunch).
The Binge, in fine Binger tradition, headed straight out to where we knew the boxes of wine to be kept. We were told to wait so that there would be some left for the dinner. Perhaps they remembered us from last year…
When the time was right, we commandeered some dinners and headed to the eating section of the night club. Several foolish bingers criticised the pâté. What total fucking wendels.
Chef, of Monsters fame, had joined us by this stage and somebody (possibly Chef himself) organised the traditional Never Ever game and as usual resulting in digs about shitbuckets and rose-petals (interesting combination) etc. Gary as usual wanted clarification on “what kind of sex?” for many of the questions. After we ran out of wine, Chef shared out some of his cognac, as he is a decent cove like that. (Either that or he was just out to impress the clittoratti- who knows!) A box of wine was then converted into a bag of wine, looking disturbingly similar to a blood transfusion, and smuggled into our section of the night club to solve our drink shortage.
At around this time, Chef began the task of failing to score all four Binge females (even the ugly one :D ) What a hero!
After several drinking games had died a horrible death, and around the time certain females had decided it was a good idea to urinate by torchlight, we returned to the dancing section of the night club and we got our dance on. There was crowd surfing. There was dancing (the safe kind –obviously). There was limbo under our leashes. There were cute blonde girls who failed in their efforts to get drinks bought for them. It was a good night. One of the more entertaining aspects of the night was Micheal going around telling everybody that we should lay off the drinking for the rest of the night so we could play better ultimate the following day. He then proceeded to go around telling everybody about how he was enjoying himself without drinking. Approximately 8 seconds later, he was seen at the bar horsing beer into himself. You can take the binge out of the party…. No wait, you can’t.
Perhaps as a result of this binge drinking there was a humorous incident in which Larkin propelled Jiggles head first into the ceiling. That was an odd scenario. And perhaps “humorous” isn’t the term. Then again, who cares about the integrity of Jiggles’ cranium? Jiggles later blamed this bump on the noggin for how intoxicated she got that evening. Funny- cos it was before that she lined up some French boys so she could judge who had the best abs…..(don’t worry Duffman that’s Abs as in abdominal muscles, no-one else has an Abacus half as nice as yours).
The night eventually wound down and we ate panini, it was at this point that I (Dónall) learned the French for spicy – “piquante”. Good times were had by all, except for unsuspecting Bingers who tried my panino. Gary, being the social mess that he is, decided to order two vodka and red bulls, then to try and get on the bus with them. The French didn’t really understand.
We eventually returned to the guesthouse. Some people had to be propped up by others, à la walking wounded. Certain silly bingers clambered over the wrong gate, while the right gate was wide open, but we all got home in the end and were carried by Bacchus into the arms of Morpheus (the Greek god of dreams, you philistine, not the black guy from the Matrix). We’re a cultured bunch sometimes.
As is traditional, we were up the following day bright, early and, in several cases, hungover. We lost our first game to UFO, but as usual felt like we could have taken them if we had played them in the afternoon.
A nap was then in order and so we returned, en masse, to the guesthouse. We snoozed for a couple of hours, then returned to the beach at 1 o clock to ensure we’d be on time for our 2 o clock game. At the beach, it was revealed that somebody had messed up royally and that our 2 o clock game was actually our 1 o clock game against Monsters. Oops. We agreed to play them at 3 and went to have some beers.
We played against Monsters. It was fun. We played much better than we had been playing and we finally won a game- although it was close. Chef seemed unhappy. But they won spirit in the end, so that cheered him up.
We dug sand seats, bought some beers and hot dogs and watched the final and awrds ceremony. After that we once again failed to get on the trampolines. Maybe next year….
One return to guesthouse and shower later, we hit the local restaurant. Gary perfected his impression of Dónall doing an impression of Bobby Mac. “I’m eh Rrrob Macken” (actually I think you’ll fiiiind historically it was pronounced McCann, the eh more unadulterated members of our eh claaan managed to retain the eh purer spelling)….This was followed by Robert Macken doing an impression of Gary doing an impression of Dónall doing an impression of Rob Macken. After we were fed and watered we started to make our way back home. Shane and I (shiv) found our new favourite toy in a shop window, “Little Miss Scoby”( Dear Saunta this year Id really loike a little miss skoby tallaghtfornia dreamhouse…).
After that we were safely en route until we spotted the bike-car contraption we’d been eyeing up all weekend. Michéal, Bobby Mac and Louise hopped onboard- without renting it from the official shop(shock horror!). They paraded up and down the street. If my calculations were correct, when that baby hit eighty-eight miles per hour we were gonna see some serious shit. Unfortunately we never got to see the bike-car hit eighty eight miles an hour because Micheál had to go and run the car up onto the kerb, not only screwing up the space-time continuum, but also drawing the attention of angry French people. Bobby Mac jumped ship at the first sign of trouble. The bike-car was safely returned...but it was too late. We strolled away casually so as not to look conspicuous, but as we were making our way through the park we could hear the sounds of a disgruntled Frenchman scouring the streets on his quad bike. He caught up with us, we all pretended not to understand what he was talking about- we might have been convincing if he wasn’t making the internationally recognised gesture for both bike and car. Michael then decided to dump Shane in it and go “yeah he speaks French”. The guy wanted 10 bucks or he was going to the cops. But when we to hand him the money he wouldn’t take it- he was just being French and proving he could have taken it had he wanted to. He let us away with a slap on the wrist. Bobby Mac’s ode to us all weekend had been “I love you guys, Id happily play a tournament with you anytime, you’re all like family to me” It now transpired that this was true.... until there was an angry Frenchman on a quad bike, or any other sign of trouble.
We returned to the guesthouse after our scolding and polished off the bag of wine. This involved Micheal spilling his wine while head banging/jumping and then balancing his cup on the most precarious surfaces he could find like bedposts and the end of the heater- resulting in evermore spillages. Binge were tired so there was a lot of sitting on ass, some cool magic tricks, a heated game of switch with Dónall “6 cards” mccann, Shiv Louise and cheaters extraordinaire Micheal and the (not so subtle) Mr.Laffan (calling“3 queens”-while putting down 6or7 cards) We all learned that Dónall does not like to admit defeat. Col had returned home earlier and we all presumed he was tucked up in bed. How naive we were, or course he was in the other room filling peoples bags with hangers, tying shoes together and cable tying peoples belongings to the wall. What a guy!
Most of the binge got up at 4am, went to the train station, went to Nantes, flew to Shannon. I (dónall) didn't. I slept in until about 9, then got up, chatted with the cleaning staff and had a leisurely stroll to the train station. One train journey later, I undertook a comprehensive exploration of the city of Nantes. It's very nice. Much nicer than it had been on Friday, probably because the sun was shining.
I met Monsters on the bus to the airport and Chef introduced me to the spirit award (he’s called Philippe Flop) and we talked about games that are played in ultimate circles, specifically some of the finer rules of Buffalo.
Once in the airport we parted ways and I boarded my return flight to BCN. It was luxurious as luxurious as I have become accustomed to. But I slept and missed the champagne!
Meanwhile the rest of us were bussing it back to Dublin, we didn’t get champagne but we did get a 10min stopover in Borris on Ossary where we enjoyed some Tayto and a very quick pint! A few more games of switch and bullshit (Shiv “half the deck” Colivet) and we were back in Ballybinge once more. We all had a great weekend…and even though you’re all total Melvins, I’d happily play a tournament with you guys anytime, you’re all like family!
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