Many have advised me to 'focus on the good memories' of my father since his funeral on Tuesday

Trouble is, Dad got up to a LOT of exploits. It's hard to narrow it down

But one tale that came up a few times among family is an absolute belter. So here it is

[Thread]

/1

Some background

It was the late 80s. My father is the (notorious) landlord of the valley pub we lived in. It's Christmas time. Dad is invited to the Brewery Christmas do at a posh venue in Swansea

He goes with two mates, Clarkey and Wacker

/2

Clarkey is my Dad's oldest and best friend. He was basically my Dad, but with more hair, even more reckless tendencies, and less self-control. They were well known 'hell-raisers', shall we say

/3

Wacker is one of our barmen, and also best customer. He was like our mascot. About 5'5, but weighed around 25 stone, due to his drinking 15-20 pints a day for at least 2 decades. He was almost spherical. Looked, and even often sounded, like a miniature Jabba the Hutt

/4

Dad, Clarkey and Wacker were well known (infamous?) among the brewery network, so got invited to all the events. Obviously, they went, because there was free booze. Wacker was particularly excited about the Brewery Xmas do, for this reason I assume.

/5

Wacker had even bought a new suit for it. Pure wool, cost him about £200 which was no small thing in the valleys in the 80s. Had to have it custom made, what with him being essentially a beach ball with a head on top.

/6

So, off they go to the posh Brewery christmas do in Swansea, in Clarkey's beat up estate car

Amazingly, nothing really happens during the party, a good time is had by all. Wacker gets loads of drinks given to him by the Brewery people, they all love the guy

/7

But then it's gone midnight, and the party ends. Everyone has to go home. Dad and Clarkey tell Wacker it's time to drink up and go. He gets off his bar stool with some noticeable effort, sways slightly, then falls flat on his face, out cold.

/8

This guy's not an inexperienced drinker. but later on, they work out that as well as his usual 10-12 pints of an evening, he's been given so many shots he's got through a bottle and a half of whisky too, at least. Everyone has their limits, and now Wacker's unconscious

/9

Apparently it's difficult to get a completely pissed, unconscious, 25 stone man down 2 flights of stairs and into the back of a car, but with the help of a friendly fireman (no idea why he was there) they manage it

/10

Manoeuvring him into the back seat of a car proves to be too big an ask, so they eventually just bundle him into the boot of Clarkey's estate car, and head home, with Wacker snoring/moaning/gurgling in the back

/11

Eventually, Wacker slurs "I want to go to the toilet!"

Dad and Clarkey tell him to shut up and wait until they get home, they've had enough of dealing with the pissed idiot

As they pass Port Talbot, Dad points out that the steelworks smell pretty bad that night.

/12

Both Dad and Clarkey eventually stare at each other in horror as they eventually realise that the pungent smell in the car with them isn't the well-known sulphurous odour of Port Talbot steelworks

/13

As you've probably guessed, Wacker has soiled himself. When dad told me about this story the first time, the word 'explosively' was used.

They can't keep driving with the smell in the car, it's too bad.

/14

This is why we end up with the scenario where there's a car parked on the hard shoulder with an unconscious 25 stone man laying spreadeagled on the bonnet, completely naked. With two other adult men cleaning him up as best they can with socks dipped in a nearby puddle

/15

Wacker's expensive (hand wash only) suit is bundled into a tied up carrier bag, or at least the parts that were salvageable. The regular loud honks from passing truckers on the M4 in response to seeing this ludicrous tableau isn't helping anyone's mood

/16

They eventually arrive back at the pub. It's about 3am, there's no question of taking Wacker home to his wife in this state, so he's basically dumped on the floor of our downstairs bar with a blanket over him. Dignity wasn't really a concern round our way back then

/17

My mother comes downstairs to start work the next morning. She sees the snoring naked man under an old blanket on the floor. She shakes her head and starts turning the lights and music on

This wasn't the first time she'd walked in on such a thing, in fairness

/18

So she switches everything on and starts getting things sorted for the day, when she hears a noise. It's Wacker, he's crying

She assumes he's just got a nightmare hangover, but goes to check anyway, asks him what's the matter?

It's not a headache. Or, not just that.

/19

Remember, it's Christmas time. Wacker, still somewhat pissed, had woken up not knowing where he was, seen the twinkling lights and fairies that were the pub decorations and heard the carol singing, and genuinely thought he was in heaven. He thought he was dead.

/20

My mother calling him a stupid bastard and stomping off probably convinced him that he wasn't in heaven after all. As did my Dad turning up and calling him all manner of vile things when he can manage to stop laughing in his face.

/21

Dad call's Clarkey to come and laugh at/insult Wacker too. Clarkey's wife answers, says he can't come to the phone, as he's angrily dealing with the police, who are there to arrest him

Public indecency, on the M4. They'd traced his license plate, as it was his car.

/22

So yeah. Heartwarming Christmas stories didn't have quite the usual style when I was a kid.

/end