A Christmas Story

When: Saturday 20th December 2003

Where: A residential school for young people with severe challenging behavior.

13:30pm: It's the school's Christmas party and I have volunteered to be Santa. Everyone has just finished eating and are playing musical chairs. By 'playing' i mean the staff are trying their best to stop the kids from kicking the crap out of each other as they fight over the chairs. Why they are fighting is any ones guess because someone has forgotten that their needs to be one less chair so there is a seat for everyone.

14:00pm: I am in a back room donning my red suit and beard. I begin to wonder why i am doing this. The kids don't give a shit about Santa, they just want presents and a chance to slap each other.

14:20pm: Santa enters to a crowd of happy faces. Well to a crowd of faces anyway. Some of the young people are more interested in trying to eat their own shoelaces or jiggling about. Some of them seem genuinely excited. I begin to 'work the room', waving and shaking hands.

14:25pm: I start handing out presents. Many of the kids are more interested in the paper.

14:30pm: I reach Safi, a young Asian boy who is very much the incarnation of a caveman. He communicates through 'ugs' and hitting people on the head to get his own way. I hand him a present.. he starts to open it.

14:31pm: Santa Claus is running around the room with a 17 year old caveman attached to his jolly red shoulder by his teeth. He clearly got upset that the colouring book he was given wasn't a bike. Other staff members are attempting to pull him off.

14:32pm: Other staff members have stopped trying to pull the boy off and are instead attempting to remove him from my shoulder.

14:33pm: I am laid face down on the floor with a 17 year old caveman being forcibly removed from my back. The other young people are going wild. One boy attempts to kill Safi by stabbing him with a Crayola Pencil for attempting to murder Father Christmas.

15:00pm: I am sat in a backroom. Someone has just finished dressing my shoulder wound. I have no idea why I am still wearing the beard though.

A bit of a massive overshare!

Have you ever been ejaculated on?

Maybe I shouldn't have started this with that question. Its rhetorical. I don't really want to know. I just wanted to let you know what you were in for if you continue reading because I have, and it was technically an accident and involved no actual sexual act whatsoever. Confused? keep reading... you'll get what I mean.

Where: A NW residential home for young people with severe challenging behavior and educational needs.


When: Late 2003


It's 2003 and I work for a private company caring for young people with severe challenging behavior and special needs. The role involves supporting the emotional, behavioral, educational and personal care of young people with severe challenging behavior. By that I don't mean criminals. We are talking children with perhaps severe communication issues, high on the autistic spectrum.

There is one particular lad, aged 17, who has a tendency to get.. excitable... at times. And being 17, he is of coursed entitled to be excited. Its the job of whoever is working with him to make sure if he does get excited he goes and does it in his own room. out of the way.

Well....that's the groundwork laid... lets fast forward to October 2003.

4:30pm: Its dinnertime and staff and residents are sat around the dinner table eating. I'm working with a young man who communicates using only pictures. We are discussing what he wants for dessert. He's put 3 pictures of cake on his chart. I'm attempting to negotiate without him biting me. The boy at the other side of me is chatting about how he "fucking hates ducks" with his worker.

4:45pm: I have so far managed to negotiate down to one piece of cake, a banana and, apparently, my wallet which the young man has managed to take from my pocket and is laughing at the picture on my old university library card. The boy on the other side of me is now talking about what he does like. Apparently he likes swings. He's giggling at the thought of the swing.

4:47pm: Managed to retrieve my wallet. Suffered only one minor nip so not too bad. Appeased him with more cake. The boy on the other side of me is really quite taken with the swing. He's bouncing about something rotten.

4:58pm: I'm attempting to retrieve the salt cellar from the lad I'm working with. He's pouring it in his hand and throwing it on his head. The boy next to me is grunting for some reason.

4:59pm: Got the salt cellar back. he is now putting a picture of a football on his chart. It's pissing it down. We are not playing football, these are new jeans I'm wearing. I try to change it to a jigsaw. He's having none of it. Suddenly the boy on the other side of me makes a telltale groan....

5:15pm: I am outside in the rain playing football. The jeans I were wearing are in the washing machine covered in a teenage boys DNA. Seems he REALLY likes swings!

London (Part Two)

Where: London, UK


Date: Sunday January 11th 2009

9:51pm: I am walking down some narrow stairs after leaving a giant prostitutes flat and being offered a cup of tea by a tiny hunchbacked old lady. We are following a big black man. Not because we want to but because he is bigger than us and its dark and quiet outside. He insists on showing us where we can have "a couple more pints". We would much rather be on our way home to our beds.


9:52pm: We follow the man man around the corner onto the dark quiet street we met him on. It is no longer dark and quiet. It seems that in the 8 minutes in which we spent trying to find a way out of a prostitutes flat the once dark secluded street between Leicester Square and Soho has turned into the Moulin Rouge. Bright neon signs glow and scantly clad ladies stand in doorways.


9:53pm: The man herds us through a door covered by a curtain into an empty bar before we have a chance to argue. The 'bar' is more of a small lounge with a tiny bar in the corner, a BIGGGGGG bartender and two naked girls dancing with each other. We are the only two other people present. Me and Brendan decide, through the power of telepathy, that we will have one beer and run away. 


9:54pm: Brendan and I approach the barman and order two beers. He pours two pints, hands them to us and asks for £30.....
.....
9:55pm: We sit down with our beer. Brendan is thirty quid worse off as a result of us both being too terrified to not pay the massive beefy bloke giving us beer. We are seated  in front of the naked ladies who are still dancing. We sit in silence for a minute drinking our beer. We may as well enjoy the 'show'.


9:56pm: The music stops and the girls leave. We sit and wait for whatever is going to happen next.


10:00pm: After sitting in silence drinking our highly expensive beer in an empty room for five minutes the barman informs us that the place is shutting and we need to "fuck off out now!". We don't need asking twice.


10:01pm: We are outside the 'bar' on what has suddenly become a dark, secluded street again. The Moulin Rouge has gone. The only people on the street are now two scared men and one big black fella staring at us. He grins a big grin and says two words.


10:02pm: "Follow me!"


......we run towards Leicester Square and go home!

London (Part One)

Where: London, UK

Date: Sunday January 11th 2009

5:20pm: Arrive at London Euston. I'm attending a cyberbullying conference on Monday morning so have been booked into the hotel so I can be there fro the 9am start. Have an evening in London to myself so have arranged to meet a friend who is coming down from Southend for a few drinks in the Capital.

6:00pm: Booked in and settled at the Hotel, due to meet Brendon in half an hour outside Piccadilly Circus Underground. have a shower and stick some clothes on. You have to do this to prevent being arrested for indecent exposure.

6:30pm: Meet Brendan and walk to the Trocadero for a couple of pints. Have a catchup.

7:45pm: Get peckish so decide to look for some food. Find a Chinese restaurant and grab some all you can eat.

8:30pm: Fed and ready for more beer we take a walk into Leicester Square. Its a bit quiet. Where the hell are all the people? This IS the UK capital... it should be thriving.

8:25pm: Find a Walkabout bar and go in for more beers. Spend time chatting to some foreigners. They have no idea what we are saying. Its okay though cause we have no idea what they are saying either.

9:20pm: Decide we need a change of scenery and people we can understand and go in search of another bar. Walk through Soho. The place is dead.

9:45pm: Still can't find any decent venue to drink in. Walk down a street towards Leicester Square again. We stop by a fella who seems to be looking for someone. I ask him where all the nightlife is.

9:46pm: We are walking up a backstreet in Soho with a large black man. We have to. He told us to "follow me!" after we asked him where the London nightlife was.

9:47pm: Brendan and myself follow the guy up some stairs and are herded into a small flat. The door closes behind us leaving myself, Brendon and a 6 foot 3 tall lady in just her underwear in front of us who welcomes us with a smile and a 'hello'. The big black fella has disappeared.

"It shall be 30pounds for 10minutes, and 60pounds for the hour" says the giant, clearly eastern European lady in front of us. Me and Brendan look at each other with faces that clearly say 'this isn't a bar' followed with eye movements that say 'how the fuck do we get out of this one?"

9:48pm: The eastern European lady stands watching us smiling waiting for us to talk. I look at Brendan. He looks at me. We need to get out of here but how? An idea hits me....

"What time you open til?" i ask.

I didn't say it was a good idea, and Brendan's face says the same thing as he stares at me. I have just treated a scantly clad lady like a local Tesco Express. The glare soon disappears though when, unfazed, she replies "usually around here until 5am".

Brendan soon realises we have an out and joins in "right...well...i think we may possibly just go and have a few more pints before the pub shuts then come back in a bit if that's okay?"

We SHALL get out of here.

"That's fine" says the EEL (Eastern European Lady) "but you make sure you give no monies to the man outside. Only ever give monies to me okay?"

"Okay" we say simultaneously eager to leave the awkward situation in which we found ourselves. Although we panic when we realise there is a big fella waiting for us on the other side of the door.

9:49pm: We are about to leave when a little old lady with a hunchback and a red cardigan wanders in from behind a curtain leading to what appears to be a kitchen. Without a word she passes between ourselves and the EEL goes to a DVD player. Changes the disk and returns into the kitchen.

9:4........: "Would you like a cup of tea" says the little old lady who has returned almost immediately into the room. Gobsmacked myself and Brendan can do little except shake our heads as she smiles and returns behind the curtain.

9:50pm: We lie to the EEL and tell her we shall see her later. We exit the room and are met with a big fella who we haven't seen for 3 whole minutes. "What happened?" he asks. "we thought we'd have a few beers first" we lie.

9:51pm: "Follow me!".............

Tequila, it makes me..... beuuuggghhhhh!

I don't drink much despite what these stories may suggest. It's just that when i DO drink... stuff tends to happen. The same isn't true when I drink tequila. Very little happens after i drink tequila. Very little at all.

Let me explain.

When I was a student living on good old Dale Street in Lancaster I had a job. A job that allowed me to continue to attend uni and live on Dale Street. This job was at an after-school and holiday club forcing children to play dodgeball and make plasticine animals. And because I was one of only two males, when it got to Christmas time and the annual kids party, someone had to be Father Christmas. That somebody in 2001 was me (mainly because the other male who worked there was the boss).

This particular kids party was to be on the Saturday a week before Christmas. Everything was planned, presents wrapped and Santa suit sorted out. All it needed was for the day to arrive.... unfortunately for me that day never existed.

Now, as well as attending uni and holding down a job i was also Publicity Officer in the Students' Union. This involved largely trying to convince people to buy tickets to events so that I could attend them for free. One particular event in question was the Christmas Ball which, incidentally this particular year, happened to fall the day before my Santa duties. 

A word of advice. If you know that you have an important engagement the day after a planned night out. Don't drink too much. even if the important engagement happens to be at 5pm the following day. I went to the ball with every intention of following this advice. Not too many drinks. Easier said then done of course.  I started off pretty well. By 1:30am I was still pretty sober and was enjoying a good old dance. It was about this time however some bright spark had the idea of buying a couple of tequila slammers. 

I had heard about tequila but had never actually drunk it before in my life. But as i stood at the bar with a thumb covered in salt, a slice of lemon and a tiny glass of golden liquid i thought to myself "what's the worse that could happen?, It's tiny!" (which is incidentally what my first girlfriend said to me the first time she say me naked).

So i went for it. And as i threw that golden poison down my gullet I knew right then that I had made a mistake. A realisation that was backed up with the fact another glass of the stuff had appeared in front of me....

....fast forward to my eyes opening in a dark room in Dale Street.

The clock read 17:10 and I felt awful. My mouth tasted like someone had done their washing up in it and my head ached. Even in the dark room. I knew I was late. I had to get up. i had to get dressed and I had to run. So that's what i did. I threw a gallon of mouth wash down my throat, had a quick wash. Threw on some clothes and ran...ran like the wind.... to the taxi that was waiting for me outside cause i was far too lazy to run across Lancaster.

I arrived at the kids club at 17:30. The place was locked up. Deserted. I was stood there in the middle of Lancaster on a Saturday evening in the dark, alone and confused. I took my mobile out to find out what had gone wrong. My screen told me i had 8 missed calls and 15 text messages. It also told me something even more important....

.....it was Sunday.

I did eventually get to play Father Christmas. But that's a story for another time.

Who Wears Short Shorts?

I saw a Buddhist monk this morning as i looked out of the office window. He had a rucksack on his back and seemed to be waiting for a bus. I sat there for a while imagining him wandering around Tesco's doing his weekly big shop or out in Reflex throwing some shapes to the theme from Baywatch. It was then that i remembered the time i went to a toga party at uni.

Ahhhh...Toga Parties. The staple theme for any student party during the 90's and early 00's. This particular party was very early on in my 2nd year. Myself and 'the gang' has all moved into a house and were enjoying the freedom you just don't get in uni halls (basically the ability to walk into anybody's bedroom whilst they were sleeping and draw on their face).

Now, to attend a Toga party you need two things. Firstly...a toga. This is very easily achieved with a white  bed sheet. You then wrap the bed sheet around your body. Simple. Or it would be if you hadn't insisted on only having orange bedsheets. As it turns out wrapping yourself up in an orange bed sheet doesn't make you look like a Greek or Roman. It makes you look like a knob. Or a Buddhist monk. (Not that i am saying Buddhist monks are knobs. Just that if you aren't a Buddhist monk and are going to a toga party dressed as one you look like a knob).

So that's the toga sorted the next thing you'll need is a pair of shorts. This is less about keeping you warm and more to do with the fact if you don't someone WILL steal your bed sheet and you will spend the rest of the night in your underwear. As it turns out i didn't own any shorts so I had to borrow some from Hobbsy. The baggiest pair of shorts you have ever seen. I looked like MC Hammer with half cast pants on.

So anyway. Shorts on and looking like I was fresh from a temple in Nepal we went to the party. It was largely uneventful and involved basically just drinking heavily and walking home.

Now. Please heed the following advice. If you should find yourself walking home from a party late at night with a group of friends DO NOT attempt to play leap frog over some bollards. ESPECIALLY avoid doing this if you happen to be wearing tremendously baggy shorts and dressed like a monk. It will not turn out good for you.

To be fair...the first three bollards were fine. I was over them like Colin Jackson over hurdles. then we reached Ethel Austins and things went pear shaped (cue slow motion imagery and Chariots of Fire music)

I started my run up, ready to leap the final bollard between me and my hero status that I would surely claim should i make it. I ran, my orange bed sheet billowing behind me. My hands hit the top of the bollard and my feet lifted off the ground as i threw myself forward. I was going to make it. Everyone was watching ready to cheer and whoop. Even the police in the car that was passing slowed down to witness this fantastic feat. I carried on through the air...

....I couldn't quite understand why i was laid on the floor. Everything seemed to have gone to plan. The run up. The launch. it was all perfect. There should be no reason as to why I had failed. Everyone was looking at me laughing. My friends. The police. Ethel Austin (had she been a person and not a charity shop).

I attempted to pick myself up off the floor but couldn't. I tried again but got halfway then fell to the floor again. I was confused. Maybe my bed sheet had got tangled around the bollard? I removed the bed sheet and tried again. It was then that I realised what had happened. As I looked down I saw that the bollard had somehow managed to rip through the front of my tremendously baggy shorts and out through the back leaving me attached to the bollard. I was stuck. The police continued slowly past and around the corner. Laughing at my misfortune, Chaz had decided to carry my bed sheet away from me knowing there was only one thing for me to do.

And that is how I ended up walking through Lancaster Town centre in just my Boxer Shorts in Autumn 2001.

Drugs, Sex and 15 Hours Sleep

In September 2009 myself and my mate Dean decided it would be fun to travel to London and visit the famous Ministry of Sound. It was here that Dean managed to fall asleep, stood up, in the middle of a packed club with very loud music playing. I laughed heartily at him for this for months. Turns out what goes around comes around.

Fast forward to August 2010. Bank Holiday weekend.

Sunday 29th August.


06:30
I am awoken by the sound of Dean messing with his phone. I am in a tiny wooden shed in the middle of a field in Cheshire. We arrived at 11:30am the day before but we'll come to that later. I get up fearing a hangover but actually feel pretty good. Just a bit tired. I go to the loo and grab myself some breakfast.

13:00
Spend some time wandering around enjoying the festival before the DJ's start. Decide to see what Beer with RedBull tastes like. Turns out it tastes like Beer with RedBull in.

16:00
Am stood in a field full of people with a girl on my shoulders dancing. She sees herself on the big screen and gets very excited. Panic cause i think she's started having an epileptic fit. She isn't. Panic over.

16:30
A queue of girls has formed. Turns out they also saw the girl on the big screen and want to be on it too. I start a production line. luckily for me they are all pretty, small and light...unlike the one on Dean's shoulders who, well, isn't.

17:00
Note to self. If a girl on your shoulders tries sticking her finger in your mouth, don't let her. For the past 30 minutes i have been acting like a child who has drunk 50 espressos and eaten a kilogram of sugar. Turns out by trying to bite the girls finger I accidentally took drugs. It was neither a bad nor a good experience. I always thought that taking drugs resulted in seeing unicorns and talking animals, all it made me was sweaty and thirsty.

23:30
Going to sleep ready for the journey home. Been an okay day apart from the accidental drug taking. Much better than the day before anyway.......

.....the day before. 


Saturday 28th August 2010


06:30 
Awake in my bed in Bolton. Jump up grab shower. Stick my pink T-shirt on ready to leave for Creamfields.

07:00
DISASTER! We can't fit all the Beer in our bags. We need to leave some behind. I feel sorry for the beer that has to stay behind so I open one and drink it.

08:00
Arrive in Manchester. My belly hurts. Drinking beer at 7am is not a good idea. We go and get a McDonalds Breakfast.

08:45
Lost in Manchester's Gay Village looking for the coach. If i had realised that the coach was going from the Gay Village, on the day of Gay Pride, I maybe would have rethought the pink T-shirt. A man stops us and asks what we are looking for. He seems awfully disappointed when we tell him 'the bus to Creamfields".

09:30
On the 'Special bus' to Creamfields. Two girls from the Wirral are sat in front of us in bikinis and fur boots.  Why they are catching a bus from Manchester and not Liverpool is anybody's guess. They are struggling to put their fake eyelashes on ask if I can open the glue. I attempt to using my teeth. Manage to open the glue. Manage to glue my teeth together.

11:00
Arrive at Creamfields. We have hospitality tickets which means we have paid extra to be right next to the arena so we can be in first to see the DJ's. Turns out that's a further 1.5mile walk across a muddy field to reach the campsite.

11:30
Arrive at our shed. We are living like two little gay gnomes for the weekend.

12:30

Start drinking more beer.

15:30

Getting bored of beer. Decide i need some water. The Scottish lads opposite have a 5litre bottle of Water. I ask if i can have some. They say okay as long as I drink from the bottle non-stop for 5 seconds. Clearly this is a trap but i partake in the challenge anyway. Drink half a pint of straight vodka in 5 seconds.

17::30

Can't seem to walk properly but manage to make it to the arena to see the end of Audiobullys.

18:45

Need a wee. Tell Dean I am going for a wee. He gives me 20 quid to buy some beers.

18:50

Return to where I though I'd left Dean. I have neither had a wee or bought beer. I have no idea where I went. Can't find Dean. Decide the best option is to wander into the middle of the crowd and make my way to the front. That would be the most obvious place for him to find me.

19:30

Deadmau5 starts. 30,000 people behind me all push forward. I'm at the front and as they push i grab a girls shoulders to keep my balance. She thinks I'm trying to stop her falling. She thanks me and kisses me.

19:35

Still being crushed.  Girl asks if i want to get out of the crowd. I say yes. We get out of the crowd.

19:45

Got so far out of the crowd i seem to be in her tent....... discussing politics and religion and not having sex or anything like that. Honest....... ish....

20:10

Need the loo so tell girl I'm going to the loo. Go to the loo but when I am finished I am so drunk I forget to go back to the tent and instead go to my shed. Get in shed. Puke. Go to sleep.

22:00

Dean comes into shed and wakes me. Informs me i have missed the Deadmua5 set and that Guetta starts in 30minutes. I stand up. Kneel down. Puke. Go back to sleep.

Sunday 29th August.

06:30

I am awoken by the sound of Dean messing with his phone. I am in a tiny wooden shed in the middle of a field in Cheshire............

And that is the story of how I managed to outdo Dean's humiliating 'falling asleep in a club' feat by paying 200quid to visit a field, accidentally take drugs, have sex with a small ginger girl and then fall asleep for 15 hours missing everything I'd paid 200quid to see.

Hello there!

I suppose every good blog should begin with a bit of an introduction to who I am and the point of the blog etc etc. However this may very well not end up being a 'good blog' so I won't bother...

... oh alright then.

Hello there. My name is Teeps. Well, that's not my real name obviously. My real name is Kev, but 'Kev' is a far less interesting name to pick up girls with, so I opt for Teeps when I meet new people. It has an air of mystery about it and is usually the opening to a longer conversation. An ice breaker if you will. So in the spirit of getting to know each other. I shall tell you the story of how i came to be known as 'Teeps'.

It is the year 2000. The world has not ended despite reassurances to the contrary and teleportation still hasn't been invented (seriously, scientists need to start pulling their fingers out on this one). A young, impressionable 18 year old boy has passed his A'levels and managed to secure his spot at the prestigious University College of St Martins in Lancaster. He packs his life into two bin bags and travels North, for about 35 miles, ready and eager to move into his new home, a tiny little room on the ground floor of what is essentially a 3 story chalet. 

Now a few days pass. He meets some of the other people he's sharing his building with, makes new friends and all that jazz. Alcohol is consumed. As are Super Noodles. And, seeing as we are 'freshers' and it is 'freshers week', a beach party is attended.

Now by this point everyone pretty much everyone in the group had acquired a nickname. For example Chris Hobbs was widely known as, well, Hobbsy (see what we did there?). Then there was Manc (bet you cant guess which city he came from? That's right, Oldham, obviously!). Gramps was called Gramps because, well, he was the oldest by about 2 years. And then, and we were all quite proud of this one, there was Charity.

Charity was the stereotypical student type of the group. When you are told to think of a student. It would be Charity that popped up into your head. Tall, middle-class, always 'relaxed' and always seems to be on the cusp of saying something profound, but never actually saying it. That was Charity. His real name was Chris but since about day 3, when we had all ventured out to find things to clutter our rooms with and wear as fancy dress at one of the many Freshers week parties, he had become know as Charity, or Chaz. He had an uncanny and somewhat unnatural ability to be drawn into charity shops and sniff out some of the best ever bargains know to man. I swear by the end of only the first year he had spent so much money in Scope he must actually own Stephen Hawkings.

And then there was Kev. Me. Nicknameless. An outcast. Everyone else was relishing in the new found powers that having a nickname gave them. The ability to make small talk and chat up girls. As soon as we stepped foot into the giant hall housing the beach party they were off in all directions. Introducing themselves, explaining their nicknames and telling amusing anecdotes that having them had brought. I saw them and thought to myself "you can do this Kev! You may not have a clever nickname but you don't need one to be cool. people will still talk to you. you can still use your wit and charm you can still..."

"Hello there" said a voice whilst I was lost in my own internal monologue. I turned to see short dark haired girl in a grass skirt and bikini top sipping from a bottle of Smirnoff Ice . She was with one of the girls that Manc was currently chatting with and had decided that she would take the opportunity to talk to Manc's more attractive friend... or at least that's what i kept telling myself. This was my chance to shine. To prove that I didn't need a nickname to chat to girls. That I could be confident and cool without a label. I turned and smiled at her. Extended my hand and said "Hey, nice to meet you I'm Kev and you are gorgeous?"

Now the following possibly didn't actually happen but for illustrative purposes I'll swear to you that it did. As soon as I reached the climax of my clever and witty and clearly well thought out chat up line the room went quiet. The loud thumping music ceased mid track, and every voice in the room fell silent as the faces turned to look at me and Smirnoff Ice Girl. She looked me in the eye and I could see what she was thinking.

"Kev? your name is Kev? You mean you don't have an interesting and fun nickname to discuss? You are a fraud. You are hanging around with all these fun, nicknamed, interesting people pretending to be one of them when all along you are nothing. A normal. A, a, a KEV!"

She didn't say any of that of course but she was thinking it. I could tell. I could tell in the way she shook my hand and said "Hi" and wandered off for another Smirnoff Ice.

Downhearted and rejected I realised I was a no one without a nickname. Destined to be someone sat in the background, unnoticed. I decided to leave, there was no point me being there, not whilst I was 'Kev'. I turned to go and made my way through the double doors back into the cool night air. I didn't expect what happened next.

Suddenly the dulcet tones of a drunken Yorkshire man rang out across the courtyard. I had stumbled outside at the precise moment that Hobbsy had picked to start a drunken chant...

"He's got a tinnnnnnnnnyyy penis, he's got a tinnnnnnnnyyyy penis, walking along, singing a song walking in a tiny wonderland!"

Suddenly more people were joining in. Singing a song about a generic man with a small penis. At least that's what I thought. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I couldn't help but notice that all eyes were trained on me, the man who had just chosen that very moment to walk through the doors. The man they had picked to chant the tiny penis song to. I was horror stricken. This night had gone from bad to worse. Not only was I a no one without a nickname, I was now a no one without a nickname and a tiny penis to boot.

 "Get your dick out for lads Tiny Penis!" said a sharp wannabe Mancunian voice from behind me. Great...Manc had decided to follow behind me with his new lady friend and join in the mockery. "Haha, go on TP" said another, more  'relaxed' middle-class voice as charity appeared from behind a bush, fastening his flies. Could this night not get any worse all it needed was for a grumpy, old southern voice to...

..."Teeny 'ft' Peeney has a tiny 'ft' penis. Teenie 'ft' teepsy" said a grumpy, old southerner, not only mocking my manhood but managing to mock my strong Boltonian accent simultaneously. Great. The tri-fector of humiliation was complete. All i wanted was to go home and cry myself to sleep.

But then suddenly something magical happened. From nowhere a voice that only minutes earlier had shunned me in order to quest for another drink arose out of the gloom. A voice that turned the night on it's head and created the person I was destined to become. A voice that said just two words.

"Who's Teeps?"

Everyone stopped and looked at me in anticipation as I slowly turned to the voice that had said those two unforgettable words. I looked into her eyes and as she looked into mine i said the sentence that would form the foundations of my entire future.

"I'm Teeps! Do you Fancy another Smirnoff Ice?"

 Together we turned and walked straight back into the party. A party I had left as 'Kev', but returned to as 'Teeps'.

And that is why I am called Teeps. Now it's only fair that you introduce yourself now in the comments. go on. Don't be shy. Cant be worse than being know as Mr Tiny Penis for the rest of your life can it now?

xxxx