Ok, well to set the scene, its the last game of last season. All my mates are West Ham fans, and they've got a spare ticket due to somebody being taken ill, I know already that its going to be a heavy one. After some persuasion, I decide to come along, drinking commences at about 12. After a good 3 and a half hours in the pub, we make our way slowly to Upton Park, we are quite drunk.
The match gos on, nobody remembers it, more beers arrive, we continue drinking. Match finishes, we find a pub, we continue drinking. The drinking theme continues until around 12am, when I decide that I best head home now, because if I stay much longer its going to be near on impossible to make it home without costing a fortune. I make my excuses and leave.
Upon arriving home I remember that the wife is staying round her friends tonight, so I plonk myself down on the sofa, but I'm feeling peckish. Instead of phone for a takeaway I decide to check the freezer, Chicken Kiev and chips it is! Feeling quite pleased with myself, I place food in the oven and sit back down on the sofa.
Suddenly I'm awakened by the sound of my front door being banged on violently and the sound of the smoke alarm going off. I stagger towards the front door, on the way I drunkenly rip the smoke alarm from the cieling and take the battery out, noise problem 1 is dealt with. I open the front door to be greeted by the sight of several members of the firebrigade and a fireengine shining blues and twos. My neighbour shouts 'How can you not ******* hear that?' at me, for some reason.
'Alright lads?' I greet the local firemen, quickly they hustle me out into the street and charge into my flat. At this point I notice the smoke billowing from my front door, and remember the kiev from earlier, oh dear. Anyway, it all gets resolved, the firemen are all very understanding about it, I'm embarrased, what a moron, I'll have some apologising to the neighbours to do after this one.
The morning breaks, I go down to the kitchen, its black, charred black... the wife is going to kill me when she gets in. Oh dear. Two days of apologies, begging and pleading later, I meet up with the boys for a 5 a side football game. I decide that this isnt a story that I should be sharing with them, as if I do, I'm likely to never hear the end of it, what they don't know cant hurt me, right?
I should mention that a close friend of mine is a firefighter, but he works down in Brighton, not this far up into Sussex, he also plays 5-a-side with us. As soon as the boys see me, there is pointing and laughter, it seems that Joe was there that night, doing overtime, he was there at the call out, and he is having great fun in telling the story. There is a photo of my nuked food, and there are wild descriptions of me opening the door, saying 'Alright lads' and them hustling me out onto the street.... in my pants.
It looked like.....well.......3 drunk idiots had staggered into the field and fallen over in a pile, thrashed around a bit, and left.
