This is William.
Those of you who follow me on Facebook will know that last Friday, William came to stay as a guest in my home for the weekend.
My son's teachers instructed me to take him to interesting places, photograph his adventures and record them in a special book that needed to be returned by the following Monday morning.
After flicking through the giant catalogue of William's experiences with the other families, I became rather stressed.
He had been to museums, churches, castles and all sorts of educationally impressive places. Damn! My plans to hit the pub on Saturday for a family lunch and a few beers (whilst I distracted my boys with iPads and Wotsits) were going to have to be put on hold.
I now had to entertain this stuffed animal and come up with some impressive pictures for the damn teddy book!!
I asked the opinion of my fellow Facebookers and they assured me that I should just do as I'd planned and take him to the pub. I shouldn't have to conform to what the other parents had done. 'What is so wrong with a family meal in the pub?', they said.
Well..it turns out that there's lots wrong with it.
Really quite a lot in fact.
Here's what happened:
THE FIRST PINT
We went ahead and took William to the pub. Despite William being a minor, we bought him his first ever pint. Being as were dining in the pub and he was accompanied by responsible adults, we figured that we weren't breaking any laws.
William was happy. He loved the taste of the cold bitter liquid gliding down his furry gullet.
After the first pint, he wanted another and we obliged. We just wanted him to have a nice time...naive as we were.
A few pints down and William's confidence grew. He opened up and became chatty...so chatty in fact that he befriended some like-minded locals at the bar.
By 5pm, we decided it was time to leave as we had to get the boys home for dinner and bathtime, but William insisted that he didn't want to go home. He assured us that he could make his own way back.
He was just going to stay for 'one more pint' and continue his discussion about Miss Piggy's rump with 'the lads'.
HERE COME THE GIRLS.
As the beer continued to flow, William started cracking out his finest jokes which drew the attention of a wider and more desirable crowd: the ladies.
And boy did they love him!
By the time it hit 11pm, he was knocking back the Tequila slammers, biting lemons and licking salt off Barbie's boobies.
CROSSING THE LINE
'William, or 'Willy' as the ladies now called him, decided to take the party to the next level. They hailed a cab and made their way to an exclusive casino in Knightsbridge.
Despite not having the correct footwear, he charmed his way into the establishment with two Barbies in tow: one on each side clinging to his thick fluffy biceps.
By 2am he was heavily engrossed in a high stakes poker game playing alongside some of the wealthiest members of society.
Sadly, by 4am the Sambuca shots had taken their toll and William barfed huge fur balls all over the poker table. The Barbies jumped up from the table in disgust.
Peaches and Cream Barbie in particular was not at all impressed by having wet fur balls rolling down her glittered corset and she ran to the bathroom to get some paper towels. Malibu Barbie followed closely behind clutching their handbags and jackets.
The bouncers were hot on his furry tail and he was thrown into the street: penniless, alone and totally shit-faced.
We got the call at 5am.
William had hitchhiked as far as Heathrow Airport but he needed a lift the rest of the way.
We weren't angry, just relieved. We had been clock-watching since leaving him in the pub and we were close to calling the Police.
We picked him up and took him straight home where he passed out in a pool of his own tequila-drenched fur balls vomit.
THE NEXT DAY
William was sorry. Sorry for all of it.
He spent the entire morning in bed hoovering up Alka Seltzers like a heavily pregnant woman with a sack of Malteasers.
But he didn't feel any better.
He tried a can of full fat coke hoping the sugar would help the pain. No joy.
So we gave him a full English breakfast...
...which found its way to the toilet bowl fifteen minutes later.
William was forced to spend the rest of the day in the company of two small children who pulled on his arms and legs...throwing him up in the air whilst screaming like hyenas on helium.
He was kicked, punched and forced to attend a tea party alongside Minion Dave, Thunderbird 5 and all of the Snoopy figurines that came free with the McDonald's Happy Meals last month.
William wasn't happy.
He vowed that he would never drink again.
As usual, I was left to pick up the pieces.
It was Sunday night. I had spent the whole day cleaning up teddy vomit and I had no suitable photographs to put in the school's photo album that was due in the morning.
I was disappointed and ashamed but I couldn't let the teachers know what had happened. I just couldn't let the other parents know what William had been doing when in my care. What would they think? We'd never be invited to birthday parties at Cheeky Charlie's ever again!!
My 3 year old son would be cast aside and excluded from all of the social activities out of school!!
So, I did what all parents would do.
I covered my ass!
I spent the rest of the evening using Photoshop to convince all of those involved that William had enjoyed the most impressive of weekends to date. In a short weekend with us, he had seen the far corners of the world.
Here's the photo that made the final cut:
Crisis averted. Reputation restored. Cheeky Charlies here we come!!
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