Nice Pants

All over the world, March 17th was a day to celebrate a great Brit who rid Ireland of Snakes (or Druids, depending on your beliefs): St Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland. Don’t panic if you thought he was Irish; the patron saint of England, St George, was probably Iraqi and is also the patron saint of syphillis. Ho Hum.
Anyway, the traditional ritual used to celebrate St Paddy is heavy drinking, dancing, and singing, so what could we do ? We started off at the SU and enjoyed cheap red wine on the balcony as we watched the glorious sunset over New Cross (pictures to follow). Then, after one of our number had stumbled home to convince her boyfriend she was “shober ash a judge”, we headed off to The Walpole where the traditional, Guiness-sponsored, pastiche of Irishness was well under way. The landlord, Brendan, did everyone proud: an Irish themed Karaoke; Guinness merchandise; free boiled bacon and cabbage; two Jameson for two quid; loads of drunk people dancing about like fools etc.
When it became obvious that I had to leave before something regrettable occurred, I proudly and happily staggered off up the road.
Beck (a freid of Vic) thought it a good idea to send me an SMS consisting of the words “Nice Pants”, which related to an earlier converastion that I won’t go into.
Being in a state of tired emotionality she initially got the number wrong – luckily it was a land-line, and therfore incapable of receiving text messages. Pity, because that would have made a good anecdote.

BUT

there was one small thing she had neglected to take into account. A while ago she signed up for a very useful service that will relay text messages to land-lines using a computerised voice!

The next day, she dragged herself out of her hangover and into the school she works at as a teacher. On arrival, a worried secretary intercepted her to ask about a strange message left on the school answerphone by a strage computerised voice:
“A message has been received from Rebecca XXXXXXXX at 12:02. Message reads: Nice Pants”
Hearing that story instantly cured my hangover and caused an impromptu visit to the bog.


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