A Fine Dining Experience

I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to retell this story, but two texts and a phone call to Loz later, we've decided we should. So I'll apologise now before I start.

So on with the story......

There were nineteen of us (or there about). Nineteen males on a skiing holiday in France.

We all decided that we should treat ourselves to a nice meal out for a change. Any other night it would have been kebab, burger, home cooked spag bol, chilli and such like.

We booked ourselves into the poshest restaurant in town. It was the sort of place proper posh people would go to dine. We arrived and were greeted by the maître d' who took our coats... All very posh. We're all impressed before we even sit down. We all get shown to our table with the utmost of politeness. Sat down, we then proceed to give the waiter our drinks order.

I may be exaggerating the truth a little here (although I doubt it), but it was something on the lines of nineteen pints of lager, ten bottles of wine, several shorts etc... you get the gist?

We then proceeded to place our food order along with a repeat drinks order. It's still all very posh, and everybody's all very polite. The starters arrived, along with another encore of alcohol. We then commenced, in true English fashion, to barter.... "can I try a frog leg? I'll swap it for a snail.", and such like. It was all becoming very jovial as you'd expect from a large group of men who are out for a meal. There's more alcoholic encores....

And probably some more.

The main meal arrives and we all tuck in.

Up to now, the conversation had been sensible (ish), but inevitably, once fuelled with alcohol, things can very quickly go horribly wrong.

What you as readers need to know here is that we were sat at a big long table. Nine or ten of us were sat with our backs to the wall facing everybody else in the restaurant, and nine or ten of us were sat facing the wall with our backs to the rest of the restaurant.

Big D was in the middle of the table (not literally sat right in the middle of the table), but sat in the middle, facing the wall, with his back to the rest of the restaurant.

"I love bumming women.", he informs the party.

OK, so he's got our attention.

"Really? Did you bum ex girlfriend L?", someone pipes up.

"Yip, bummed her", he proudly announces.

And so it went on. The next ten minutes were spent running through all his ex girlfriends to establish what had gone where with each of them. With every proud affirmation, "Yip, I've bummed her too", he was getting louder and louder.

Of course, when you've had a drink, it wouldn't occur to you that there might be loads of other English people in the same restaurant trying to enjoy a fine dining experience. Well OK, it might to those nine or ten of us with our backs to the wall, that could see people's faces sat at other tables.

In a moment of major triumph, Big D places his knife and fork down to address, what has now become, unbeknown to him, half the restaurant, including Mrs Really Really Really Posh Lady and her husband, who are sat right behind him...

In an alcohol induced louder than required outburst, he announces, "In actual fact, you know what? I . HAVE . BUMMED. THE . FU . KIN . LOT . OF . THEM!!!"

Big D's side of the table roars with laughter.

Our side doesn't! . . .The restaurant's gone silent!

Our side of the table can see fine diners with jaws on their dinner plates....

And Mrs Really Really Really Posh Lady's eyebrows are stuck to the ceiling.

Her eyeballs on stalks.