Octoberfest......Part 3

Our final day in Munich started off around 11 a.m. with a pork and sauerkraut brunch back at the Lowenbraukeller on the Stiglimierplatz. After a few beers Sandro evaporated, and Queso took off to recharge his batteries, Helmet was not to be seen again till turned midnight. Myself, Funky, Dazzler, Crespo, Dangerous and King Dave took off to watch TSV 1860 play footie, the rest left standing headed off to watch some rugby in an Irish bar. The football posse manged to find the stadium, only getting on the wrong train once, but still only managed to arrive for the second half. At the ground you have to get a stadium credit card to purchase beer, so I got one a stuck 20 euros on it, and ordered six beers. It came to 21 euros, but the nice lady on the concession stand let me off a euro. The game itself was average, my attempts to start a wave foundering, only Dangerous took up the call, and two fella's doing a wave in a 66,000 seat arena doesn't have much of an effect. My efforts to introduce the easy, easy you shut up! and ooooooooooo you fat bastard! chants to our Bavarian comrades met with puzzled looks. It was still a laugh, I bought everybody present a wristband to celebrate the occasion, the game finished 2-2, and we stopped at a beer van, yes they really have them, outside the station to ponder our next move. A drunk geezer pitched up across from us, and it gave us inspiration to once again tackle the Octoberfest. We headed off, and after a McMunich attack in the Hauptbanhof, we pitched up back at the weissbier garden from the previous day. Splash Stoney called up Dangerous and a rendezvous of the squad was arranged, although Shouty once again got lost. After we had all met up and swigged a few beers, I decided it was now or never to try and gain entrance into one off the world famous beer tents. I gathered the crew together and we headed into the nearest big tent, and as luck would have it someone was vacating a table just as we entered. Let me tell you my friends, it was beer heaven. A kick ass oompah band, with resident Bavarian raver dancing on speakers, was belting out German beer tunes, everyman and his dog was standing on tables, slopping steins and singing along. For three hours we managed to drink our selves daft, Dangerous, King Dave and myself had a play scuffle, which saw us surrounded by armed security guards in red berets, but when they realised we drunken mates, they let us get on with it. At about eleven o'clock the taps were turned off and it was back into the fairground, where Shouty decided to go on the dodgem's. Unfortunatly for him all the cars had been taken, and as the hooter sounded to clear the area he found himself marooned in the middle as all the dodgem's set off. He had to be rescued by the operator, as he stood there blinking away like a damsel in distress. His bufoonery was not yet finished, he had purchased a large chocolate love heart to take home for one of his rugrats. When he decided to take a ride on the tall swing, he asked what he thought to be a ride worker to look after it. You've guessed it. He didn't work there at all, and when the Shoutster alighted from his ride, his chocolate heart was log gone. By this time, me, Crespo and Funky had become separated from the rest, and decided to get the train back to the bar we had all agreed to meet at if we split up. Poor Crespo was to treated to the Funky-Euro train treatment reported from the night before, as we somehow managed to get on the wrong train 6 times. After he had thrown a bit of a wobbler, I finally came to my senses and we got to the right station. We met up at our designated place, and stiffened with plenty of vodka and bourbon, we attacked the fountain. We stripped off outside the bar and headed for the fountain. I was the first in, believe me it was cold, Dangerous was in second, followed by Young Jack, Funky, Shouty and most spectacularly by Splash Stoney who entered the water through a back flip with double pike, beautifully executed, not once but twice. Alas the batteries in my camera had run flat, so there are no photos, although I think Funky might have got some on his camera. After a water fight our testicles had shrunk to the size of rice grains, so we got out and Splash somehow found a shopping trolley to transport our clothes back to the hotel. After drying off and changing, it was back for a couple of night caps, before I left Hemet, Mad Ad, Dangerous and Splash to it. The next morning it was off back to Blighty, I hold my hands up and tell you I was finished by now, and didn't have beer all day. I was not the only one, but Mad Ad, Helmet, Splash and King Dave were ready for more, and between Munich airport and the Villager carried it on till the death. Young Jack blew chunks at passport control in Schipol Airport, but the most spectacular projectile vomiting was performed by my good self, who on the approach to Leeds/Bradford airport ran the length of the plane, couldn't find the WC, tried to mistakenly get into the cockpit, finally found the toilet, opened the door in the nick of time, and hurled head first into the can with my legs dangling out the door. And that was about it. But the buffoonery was not yet over. The next day I received an e-mail from the hotel, informing me they had charged me 100 euros for failure of one of the guests to hand in their key. John the Don strikes at the death, and costs me money yet again.





In summary, for me this was the most legendary Bender Squad trip yet. The Octoberfest was everything I expected and more, and the Bavarians were the nicest most patient folk you could wish to meet. For future reference I would make sure a table was booked at one of the big tents, and it is a place I would love to visit again. The reports I posted on this blog are reflective of my experience's there, and I have missed out some other tales, of which I was not witness. Young Jack won a bet with Splash, by talking a nubile young waitress to swap clothes with him. Young Jack was also in a Techno club with Shouty, who claimed to control the dance floor with his bad ass moves(?). Mad Ad went for a piss in the airport when we arrived, and when he came out everyone had gone (he had to pay 50 euros to get the hotel), something that happened to Shouty on the Sunday when they left the Irish bar, although it has a happier ending as he found us again. There is also Queso's OxPig, a mystical beast only found on spit roasts in Munich. A special mention also goes to Skid and Crespo, who took 250 euros each to catch a later flight when ours was overbooked. They were told they would have to wait a couple of hours and would be back at Yeadon for nine o'clock. They ended up landing back home at Midnight, minus their bags, a fate that befell Patty and Helmets luggage. When all summed up, there was idiocy a plenty, as you would expect, by for the regularity of which he committed extreme acts of stupidity, Shouty has emerged as a serious Le Grand Buffoon 2007 candidate to the seemingly cast iron Funky Pedestrian. I have more pictures to post, particularly from the beer tent, and will notify on this blog when I have uploaded them.