A Tale of Two Grads - Part Two

5th Oct 2010

A Tale of Two Grads - Part Two

Eating the Meal

Shammy: For the first time years you may be forced to eat something that has not been deep fried, plastered in sugar, microwaved or prepared by just adding water or coke.

The flah tours the dancefloor while Sully takes a sniff

Your body may react unkindly to the input of healthy items like potatoes, meat and vegetables so keep an over priced luminous coloured alcopop nearby at all times to make sure your body doesn't think its getting ahead of itself with all these vitamins and minerals.

Poshy: As an appropriately arrogant gesture to hard working charities and world hunger a food fight is sufficiently offensive to allow your school to maintain its obnoxious reputation. If the hotel staff kick up a fuss make sure you find out the owner's name and tell them your Daddy will get them fired if they squeal. At the very least it'll delay the Paddywagon's arrival.

Gattin' On

Shammy: As any hardened suburban midweek alcoholic will testify food only takes up space that booze could be filling so if you have loaded yourself up uncomfortably with three rounds of extra mash then downing the pints may be impossible for hours.

You will now have to spend an age walking around the hotel car park trying to work off the carvery calories while you watch helplessly through the windows as other feens encircle in your orange skinned date and her enormous hoopy earrings that are picking up a long wave radio station in Argentina. Quick! Text the station in Spanish to tell them that you 'loves' her to ward off the biys!

Poshy: With your extensive experience of black tie dinners at the yacht club, finding a balance between gat and grub is not a problem. Trying to charm 'herself' whilst desperately trying to not look at the bits you shouldn't be is the only battle at this point.

Fail: Leary's salsa and line-out lifting need some work

De Dance Floor

Shammy: If the DJ has any sense it'll be wall to wall kiddie trance to keep the peace at your grads. Anything less than squawking synths, piercing percussion and ear bleeding bass and he'll have a riot on his hands.

The slow set is mainly for old dolls to sing along to and if you've any sense of respect about you now is the time to lob the gob while she's emotional. If she doesn't play ball then abandon her immediately to Westlife and Celine Dion, then head outside and start texting other beours until the slow set is over. LOL.

Poshy: Rock The Boat is the only tune you should harass the DJ for. You're too posh to grope your date without reason so the universal actions for this classic provide a handy excuse.

The Scrap

Shammy: There's just too much testosterone and alcohol in the one place for there not to be at least one fight. Usually its just harmless jostling and flapping that is quickly quenched by a centipede of outstretched arms and shouts of "take it eeeeezeeee biys!". Sometimes though it can take on a life of its own and this is the time to steer clear. Otherwise its an early taxi to the Dental Hospital.

Poshy: This fight is likely to be sparked by a slurred remark implicating someone in the heartbreaking failure to beat a rival rugby school in the final minute of 'The Cup'.

A missed tackle, a wonky lineout throw or a misfired kick are all contributing to the heap of teeth piling up on the dance floor as a circle of chanters and new media nodes upload the action to Youtube. Later when both parties have expended their testosterone they'll be seen man-hugging in furious reconciliation whilst shouting rugby chants together at the Slovakian receptionist.

They don't say anything about sleeping on the pitch at Musgrave Park. Must be ok so.

The Walk of Shame

Shammy: Appearing even more orange than ever in the bright morning sun your old doll will act as a sort of lighthouse beacon for people to avoid on Patrick Street as you both shuffle your way through those going about their early morning business in the real world.

She'll be complaining about walking in bare feet and you'll be hoping that you have enough grade left to buy your weak and weary body a burger and a cab home to your mam. Wrapping your coat around her frostbitten shoulders will buy you another five minutes peace before she gets cold again.

Cork, being Cork, you'll bump into at least five or six people you know by name. As if that didn't make you morto enough you also clash eyes with an odd reclusive neighbour from your estate that gives you a look that says '…and you think I look weird?!'.

Poshy: Waking up alone and cold in the centre of Musgrave Park in little more than your underpants, a traffic cone hat and a girl's shiny silver coat is worrying enough but the fact that the entire Munster U21 squad, out on an early morning training session, are peering at you from above with an array of digital camera technology is even more discombobulating.

Limp in shame to the quietest exit, hail a cab and keep your head down low as you contemplate how fast the shameful images will arrive to your classmates' phones and facebooks. Now at your lowest point since weeing on yourself in junior infants, the fact that you are wearing a pair of pink tassels suddenly becomes distressingly apparent.