So Dundee and I have a strained relationship; I spent a very odd couple of days up there in '16, ended by a raucous dinner hosted by a wonderful organisation called the "Nine Incorporated Trades of Dundee." I gave an uproarious speech in which I toasted the Queen of Scots (nope, no idea), talked a ton about the importance of Scots in the English Legal System (a lot of padding) and finally quoted Burns. It was awful.
The sole aim of the dinner, I am now convinced, was to get the English lawyer so drunk he would never venture north of Berwick again. It worked. The lowpoint of a journey home in which several of my personal 'worsts' were achieved was passing out on the flight south; when I awoke upon landing my neighbouring passengers had dispersed far and wide, such was the shambles of a human that I had become.
Anyhoo, it's a fun city if you avoid official hospitality. They wear their history well, and I had a fun hour (before the dinner) in Captain Scott's ship Discovery. Very much recommended.
Basically all we've learnt from this is that he's a total square and barely survived the hospitality of one of Scotland's tamest city's. I must beg you never to go to Ireland or you'll die of alcohol before you leave the ferry.
It's only fair to share MY terrible drinking story. I was being hosted for a full semester in Amsterdam by the Erasmus Scheme and taken to the original Oktoberfeste in Munich via overnight coach. Little notable occurred on the way aside from watching for the first time the Wolf of Wall Street, which I must say is much funnier in Dutch.
Anyway, we penetrate the german border and stop for eats. Two policemen were at the petrol station and quite alarmed at the coachfull of very foreign young peoples milling around. We avoided a scene only by the grace of their I must say quite fantastic hatred of the French. We arrived on time to the campsite and started predrinking for a few hours then got into the festival at 7 the next morning.
Several hours of 1.5litre stein glasses of finest 3 euro lager later, we feasted on whole roast chickens and pretzels (the limit of solid food in the beer hall and damned if we were moving) while brass bands played constantly. Everyone was in lederhosen and other traditional dress which meant of course more bulging bulge and cleavage than usual at 10 in the morning. There wasn't much fighting but the traditional dare/suicide pact of standing on a bench and downing a full glass to raucous applause before being thrown bodily from the hall by staff meant plenty of entertainment.
Anyway, everything was cheap and excellent, and the goverment was paying our tab, so after making friends with several people who ended up joining the Hong Kong resistance, we quit the hall and wandered around aimlessly smashing into things and people. After a time we were determined to steal some stein glasses (because for some insane reason they don't sell them at the festival) and succeeded in getting thrown out of two halls.
It gets a bit fuzzy after that but I do know I did manage to (somehow) kneck a whole glass to massive acclaim. We got ice cream on the floor and a couple of rugby lads on tour carried us back to our coach at the end of the day. Munich is best taken in on your side, I find.
The projectile vomiting and other bodily fluids the next day were an experience all of their own.
Anyway, a few weeks later Trump was elected President.
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