Sinking, drinking and swimming in the pink...
Not me, but my father.

Many moons ago, my father used to be fairly senior in the Banking world. When I say fairly senior, he ended up as the General Manager of an Offshore Private Bank - for those of you who don't know, that's essentially an old-fashioned Bank Manager, i.e. the chappie in charge of the particular branch.

As such, he often found himself being invited to many corporate shindigs. I work in finance now and pride myself on being invited to a whole host of different CorpHosp events and chugging my way through a decent amount of champagne and canape's, however back in the day when real expense accounts were prevalent, the realities were a little different.

Dad ended up being invited to Royal Ascot in the late 70's with a couple of other senior bods from the bank. Jersey tended to be a little different from the rest of the corporate world back then - housing regulations were very tight (and still are) which meant that there was a lot of rapid promotion from within - Dad was in his mid-30's and very much up for a laugh. For laugh, read drink.

As is normal at Ascot, everyone went the whole nine yards. Morning suits for the gents, big hats for the ladies. Dad was, and indeed is, 6'5", so with full tails and top-hat, he cut a rather dashing figure.

He was attending with one of his best friends and they, unsurprisingly, ended up with a few drinks inside of them. When the time came for the last race of the afternoon, neither of them were particularly interested in it, far more interesting was the free bar with rather pretty barmaids (he was at this time between marriages).

One thing led to another, and he and his friend ended up calling a taxi to take them back to the hotel with a couple of the afore-mentioned buxom wenches. Also accompanying them was - literally - as much pink champagne as four people could carry. I have mentioned that my father is not a small person - he can carry a prodigious load at the worst of times - when it comes to carrying alcohol (especially pink, bubbly alcohol), Sampson would have been put to shame.

They had already drunk as much champagne as they could manage before leaving, but free champagne is far too hard to resist. They ended up back in their hotel suite wondering what to do with a huge amount of bubbly, so they did the only sensible thing possible.

This is how my father, the legend that is my father, ended up sitting in a spa-bath in his hotel suite with one of his best friends and two newly acquired fillies from Ascot BATHING IN PINK FREAKING CHAMPAGNE.

If that's not wallowing in luxury, I have no idea what is.
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Fri 29 Jul 2011, 10:53, 2 replies)

I'm sure you know what luxury is
but maybe you should learn how to use an apostrophe.
(leviticus no longer likes the cut of your gib on, Fri 29 Jul 2011, 14:57, closed)

Awwww.....
Poor troll.

Fuck off now.
( Hunter Stockton was murdered by a bicycle wielding axolotl,.,.,.,., Thu 4 Aug 2011, 14:08, closed)