The Beer and I

By Fred Itfru

Fred has come of age . . . Well, at least in
numerical terms, he was over eighteen.
So, he thought he would be able to experience
all the wanton lust, sex, partying, booze, and
freedom that a college education will give him.
Except that in Freds case, although the booze,
sex, and freedom is there for the taking, so is
the downright embarrassment, foolishness,
and stupidity that accompanies a young mans
freedom.
Chaos prevails until he fi nally refl ects on Clint
Eastwoods quote, A Man has to know his
limitations.
Unfortunately, Fred didnt!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Sep 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465351791

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Fred Itfru.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011916899

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-5178-4

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-5177-7

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-5179-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter One Days Like This?

Chapter Two Mount Everest And The Olympics

Chapter Three The Total Brakeup!

Chapter Four The Party!

Chapter Five The Poster

Chapter Six A Window Of Opportunity

Chapter Seven Seaside Special

Chapter Eight Manchester And Out!

Chapter Nine Springtime

Chapter Ten Eaten Alive

Chapter Eleven Suicide Job

Chapter Twelve The Flying Blob

Chapter Thirteen The Fat Lady Sings

Chapter Fourteen All In A Night’s Partying?

THE PLAYERS IN THE GAME! + GLOSSARY

Glossary

Introduction

My name is Fred, and after many years, I have finally got round to sitting down and writing a book. Perhaps a series of episodes would be a better description, but just for simplicities sake, let’s call it a book.

This is a book not to be read, or even contemplated, by the serious-minded. This is a book which tries to capture the stupid sexual lust and downright drunkenness of my youth, whilst I tried to fit in a full-time education at college.

Not that attending college was a prerequisite to experience the wanton freedoms of life, just the fact of breaking away from the family home ties and not yet being old enough to experience the ‘luxuries’ of a mortgage, marriage, parenthood, and all the other inappropriate adult stigmas!

This is about going out and having a good time!

The chapters are episodes, or ‘snapshots’ – pictures of my experiences.

It helps if they are read in sequence, as they make a little more sense, but probably not a lot as they didn’t make a lot of sense when I did them!

So you can, if you wish, treat them as ‘Little stories’, perhaps even ‘Little Fantasies’! However, you will probably have to read the ‘The Players in The Game’, or none of it will make any sense!

But then again you may disagree?

In fact, did any of it make sense?

Moving on!

I have tried to use the words and phrases of the day (as much as I can remember them!). These may have changed in the intervening years or even gained a completely different meaning with the passage of time.

But if some words and meanings are a bit obscure, then I have added a ‘Glossary’ to help you out.

If you still can’t make head or tail of the meanings, then just make your own interpretation; it probably will make more sense than mine!

However, as I think, you will agree certain words don’t really change, and I make no apologies for the bad language. It was a reflection of speech, from a ‘highly?’ educated bunch or perhaps otherwise!

I hope you enjoy reading the book as much as I did writing it.

But then, I would, wouldn’t I?

Fred Itfru

Chapter One

DAYS LIKE THIS?

A Student House at 10.30 a.m. on a Saturday Morning—somewhere?

The day appeared like a mirage, in that all of the edges were fuzzy.

But today, the fuzziness was noisy, and it buzzed uncomfortably as I pulled back the sheets, sat up, and fell gracefully out of bed on to the floor.

My ability to reach the upstairs toilet was going to be debateable, let alone achievable, and I seriously considered having a pee in the sink in my room and then going back to hibernate into my bed.

However, another urge had raised its ugly head, which instantly dismissed the thought of a quick pee and then back to bed, almost as soon as this easy idea had formed.

I needed to throw up, and this urge surpassed all others and made the ‘noisy fuzzy bit’ scream with sheer panic.

This added to the fact that I had only cleaned the sink yesterday (urine has a dreadful smell!) and since I didn’t feel like taking five minutes to push the big bits down the plughole after throwing up, I opted for option B.

Option B—Go to the upstairs toilet!

I fumbled with my room-door handle before falling heavily out on to the landing.

I was on the first floor of a two-storey building, and the bog was on the second floor!

It’s times like this, as you look at the equivalent of the face of the Eiger, that you wonder, what was so unbelievably exciting last night to justify the last four pints, which got you so totally and utterly pissed, in order that you could enjoy the rest of the night!

I crawled slowly on all fours up the twelve steps, that needed to get me into the toilet. The call for ‘Hughie’ was getting stronger as each step passed me by.

Finally, I made it through the toilet door, praying that no one was sitting there defecating last night’s curry into the pan before me.

No, my luck was in, an empty bog!

So with a gasp of exhaustion, I rested my chin on the cool semi-white porcelain (when was this cleaned last!). How hygienic? . . . How unavoidable… How bleedin’ predictable now!

If everyone from last night felt as bad as I did, then ‘Hughie’ was going to be a very busy man today!

With a gut-wrenching heave, I grasped the steering wheel of the porcelain bus and shouted at the top of my voice for ‘Hughie’ to come and sort me out.

The next few minutes took on a familiar tale, which, for those of you who are just having lunch, I will skip through!

But as I reached the final throws of wishing ‘Hughie’ to ‘Have a Nice Day’, I became aware, in my faded senses, of another sound… A running water sound? . . . A peeing sound!

Oh, bleeding hell, I must have pissed myself… No… the yellow stream was cascading past my head into the pan.

Now, unless I had really become a total ‘dickhead’ overnight, this was physically impossible for me to perform.

‘Sorry, Fred, couldn’t wait any longer.’

The noise stopped, and Charlie tottered out on semi-stable feet back into his bedroom. Unfortunately not before he had given me a semi-rinse as he shook the last drops out!

I decided to check if ‘Hughie’ wanted ‘one more for the road!’ but luckily by this time, he was well on his way home.

I levered myself up into a standing position and peed into the brightly coloured pan. Charlie had done a good job at missing most of my head, but he had also missed all the big bits! With varying degrees of focus, I tried desperately to wash all the big bits into the water so I wouldn’t have to wipe them off with a tissue… When did I eat all those peas and carrots?

Then it came… the huge wave of relief and well-being that can only come following the expulsion of excessive bodily fluids. The unbelievable relief that you are still alive (albeit, not for lack of trying otherwise) and that although today will be tough, you should be in good shape to get to a party tonight and start getting pissed all over again.

Back in my room, I dragged the toothbrush around my mouth, missing most of my teeth due to the interference of a large furry thing in my mouth, so I bit it and cried out, realising it was my tongue!

Sod this for a game of soldiers, it was time for breakfast; full English was probably too much to hope for; however, a ‘cup of Rosie Lea’ should be achievable, even in the land of the dead!

After ending up in a heap on the hall floor, due to missing the last three steps, I staggered manfully into the kitchen.

Oh joy! It was its normal ‘spotless’ self for a Saturday morning.

Yes, the kitchen never failed to surprise me, and today was no different.

These Saturday morning sights were a pleasure to behold. Drying orange grease made circular symmetrical patterns up the sides of the sink. Dirty plates piled so high that the construction of the pyramids would have been child’s play.

Knives and forks were lost in the green slime at the bottom of the bowl!

Oh, it was such a delight to see in the morning, particularly after ‘Hughie’ had just left!

But the best was yet to come.

Even better than the art decor and construction lessons, there was no bastard teapot!

Some selfish prat had taken it upstairs so that he could rouse his lady from her deep, untroubled slumber with a delightful cup of Earl Grey, . . . before he rodgered her again!

Slightly disgruntled, I re-boiled the kettle and stuffed one of the cheap teabags into a semi-clean mug. As the kettle boiled, I walked over to the fridge for the milk.

Shit, the civilised prat had even taken the milk! So after the second rodgering