The Golf pimp disaster

Posted: June 23, 2012 in Publishing

Okay, this is the first blog post by popular request. I’ve been asked to explain the weekend of mayhem and golf course ruination debacle. It’s all a bit embarrassing to tell you the truth. And, at this point, I do have to say a big thank you to my publishers Cutting Edge Press for sorting out my mess and paying for the damage caused. I couldn’t remember all that I had done. I’d have gotten away with much of it, were for it not for CCTV.

It all started with a check. My first check form the sales of the book. To be honest, while reviews have been good, I didn’t realise quite how well it had done, but the check was, well… BIG. I wanted to celebrate it, blow off some steam. So a plan was hatched, I’d take some of the money and have a quiet few beers with my mate Fuller in Sussex. Sophie my ever patient other half said before I left “Don’t fuck up” After all, it’s just two of us, what’s the worst that could happen?

Not quite sure what other writers do when they cash their checks, we decided to dress up. Me as a Pimp, because of my pimpin-big check, and Fuller As Elvis. 11am in a Sussex pub, there I am, in a purple and zebra striped shiny suit, with matching hat, necking  Jägerbomb’s and depth-chargers with Elvis. By 2pm, spirits were high, the mood was good. I remember getting on a bus. We had no idea where it went, but ended up in Crawley. I think because I thought it was the spiritual home of the ‘pub-crawley’ and this is where things got blurry. I remember getting asked to leave Pizza express because they didn’t do a vegan option. I know we ended up having a picnic of breads and olives with a Bottle of Jack Daniels in a park. I can only think how stupid a pissed Elvis and purple Pimp looked in a park having a picnic. I remember doing shots in ‘Bar Med’ I think I can remember crashing a stag night to ‘Whispers’ and then being asked to leave for attempting to recruit whores where by I immediately got knocked down by a taxi.

We were a hungry, lost, cold and very drunk Pimp and Elvis, who hadn’t eaten all day. Thus decided to find food. We decided the best way was to go Bear Grylls and walk in a straight line, following what we thought was the North Star, straight as the crow flies. Till we found food. We walked over fences, garages and gardens. Then we noticed we were on immaculately maintained grass. We were on a golf course. I hate golf, but in the distance were flashing lights. A party, and well, that is like a beacon to two drunken moths. How exactly, we thought we could sneak in, is, in hindsight, pretty stupid. The lights were for an end of season prize giving and party. There was a free bar… what more can I say. The old golf dudes were cool with us, laughing along. The owners of the golf course not so. I walk in, trying to be low key in my Pimp suit, scoping food. We were there a short while, hitting the free bar hard. The staff wouldn’t serve us, so we asked the old golf dudes, who would order for us. So we kept asking them to order big, ‘Four largers and four whiskies please.’ Then, over the speakers, loud as fuck, I could hear someone slaughtering Bobby Darin’s ‘Mack the Knife’, just shouting. I turn, and there, having ruined some old guys speech, is Fuller, murdering a classic song. It was so funny. Thing was, he didn’t stop, so I took a picture.

Just look at the fucked off bar manager and the horrified DJ. Security came for us, Fuller ran, I grabbed a tray of sandwiches and a pint off a table and ran too.  We hid in a bunker for a while and I discovered none of the sandwiches were vegan. As The sandwiches were of no use, and well, I stole them. We decided to sneak back and post them through the letterbox of the office.
The call of the free bar was too much. We sneaked in again. We hit the bar, drinking as much as week could before security came, gulping down pints and necking whiskies before security arrived. This time I took a bottle of wine off a table and a gateaux when security were called. Again we ran off, back to the bunker. However, we thought, due to our dress we might get noticed. So we tried to bury ourselves in the sand. Bunkers are not very deep it turns out. And very easy to ruin. We fucked the bunker badly.  It would seem that we were there a while too, as it appears I took a shit in the 9th hole.
It might have been because the gateaux wasn’t vegan or that it sand in it, but it too was returned to the office, via the letterbox.

We should have called it a night. But a Pimp and Elvis, being chased by overweight and elderly security was so fucking hilarious. The old golfers were loving it and we were stupidly drunk. Using some ninja techniques, we sneaked in again, but this time security were waiting for us. A very low speed chase was on, them old, us drunk. Stupidly however, the security guys left their buggy outside. So I jumped in it, hit the pedal and we were off. But only temporarily, as I drove into a fence, killing the buggy. So we made our escape again on foot, laughing like fools into the night.

I can’t remember the rest. I was so drunk. What I do remember is lots of shouting, and being woken up, as I had passed out on a Golf buggy. There was Fuller taking a picture of me, accompanied by the security guards and the Police. It turns out we broke into the green keepers hut, and painted giant fat cocks in line paint over the putting green too. I tried to protest my innocence. Pleading it wasn’t us. They then showed us CCTV footage of a guy dressed as a Pimp, and Elvis running around with cakes, beached in a bunker and laughing like mad men as they painted the green with big white cocks. This is why I shouldn’t make any money. I really pissed off Sophie, I blew a LOT of money. And my publisher had to pay for all the damages.

Apparently writers don’t do this.

Advertisements
Comments
  1. Shaun Holmes says:

    You are a spanner dude! Now when are we going to get wet again?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s