hills howard in the ring... (a thursday evening in early july '06)


a few weeks ago, possibly a month ago, pete gericke and the lovely sam were over in london on holiday. around that time, there were also a number of other hills howard old boys that were fresh off the boat. we therefore decided to have a hh old boy reunion of sorts. there were a number of options of things we could do (tennis evening, weekend away in the burg, hundred club, strip joint)... but we eventually decided on an old-school-billing-dinner-type event. we booked a restuarant - the flaming wok - in wimbledon, and invited the entire population of ex-A-side hh folk living in europe. the following people could not make the event:

1. porto - had to work late... poor poor effort (if you did some work during the day, you wouldn't have to work at night).
2. kirk - prior engagements with a cleaning lady... hmmm.
3. bastable - tries not to associate with riff-raff anymore.
4. frank - had already had 2 litres of plain greek yoghurt for dinner.
5. hobson - he's not a hh boy goddammit.

so... what did we do? we did what we usually do at hh billing dinners... we boozed... and we boozed... and we boozed... and we picked up the waitresses... and we boozed... and porto puked (actually he didn't... because he wasn't there)... and we boozed... and we cruised out to party... and we boozed... and we boozed... and we pinched nipples (actually that was only dopey)... and we boozed... and we slapped our mates on the back... and we boozed... and none of us picked up (except frank who was wearing his tight white jeans... actually he didn't pick up... because he wasn't wearing tight white jeans... and he wasn't there)... and we boozed... and we got home at 5.30am... and we we rocked into work the next morning with mean thumpers... and we ordered cokes and toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches (thick slices, salt and pepper) from ken's... and we boozed at lunch... and we got through the day... and we started over again.

actually we didn't. it was pretty sad really. not one brandy and coke was consumed. not one suit-case was ordered. not one flaming sambucca was flamed. there were no food fights. no pube sabotaged meals. no waitresses abused. not one of us ventured out to party afterwards (except wiggy). no-one grabbed hold of the mic and embarrassed himself at karaoke. no-one went to work the next morning wearing a dodgy purple shirt and schoolboy grasshoppers having had an all-nighter at the tennis club singing "sing us a song you're the piano man". it was sad. we sure are getting old.

it was good however to catch up with all the guys... pete and sam appear to be as happy as punch. we got updates on all the latest hh scandle and gossip... apparently it's crazier and more incestuous than ever before. raymond looked good after his stint in dubai. greg was a good laugh. ryan was boozing. dopey was dopey. wiggy was choking on his extra hot curry. and the girls (megan and gail) were looking pretty. the night ended with us balancing spoons on our noses (see what happens when you get old). we were tucked into bed by 11.30pm.

just a quick note on where all the guys are now and what they are doing with their lives:

pete - no, he's not a partner yet
ryan - turned into a raging kiwi alcoholic
grumbies - confused
dopey - doing his best to immitate bam
raymond - got a dodgy pair of nipple rings
wiggy - spends most of his time and money at the hairdresser
porto - marrying the girl of his dreams next year
kirk - global head of hsbc
bastable - raping and pillaging the 3rd world
frank - still trying to solve the mystery of the chicken burger
hobson - still wishing he was a hills howard boy
me - just trying to find love (aahhh)

and that was that... good friends. good memories. good times.