Guess Tom Robb's Weight And for every 5 kilograms out, drink a finger. Them's the rules. This was the Bankers Bar-crawl.
Yes, the Juicy Boy of Bankers, Tom Robb, has offered forth his flesh for a new form of drinking game. The Juiciest Boy of All, Rawhide, must be smirking expectantly and steepling his fingers as he awaits confirmation of the final weigh in. If only he could weigh us all and add the figures to his obsessive, ever expanding collection of statistics, perhaps then he could figure out the mysteries of human connection in one grand, maddening sum.
On the topic of Rawhide, some prat (namely Ned) decided to jab him in the back as he stumbled towards the Fox and Duck. In search of a perpetrator, Rawhide twirled around in a pirouette with all the delicacy and grace of Rudolf Nureyev and, as his eyes swam sluggishly into focus, the Juiciest Boy of All settled on fragile, innocent me. Have you ever been held captive by Rawhide? If so, is there a helpline I can call? Like a puppy in the grip of Steinbeck's Lenny I felt terror and an all encompassing warmth. Here was a man who could crush me and I was caught. With a wild look in his eyes he toyed with the idea of breaking an arm or two and throwing me into traffic, until slowly the Numbers revealed to him that this was a crime and that I was friend, not foe, releasing me, stunned and shaking, to live to see another sunrise. As Jonny Hirst, Wrestling Extraordinaire and All Round Muscle-man will tell you, in the art of wrestling you can't beat an opponent who weighs more than you. Juicy Boys flatten Baby Boys, and I am the latter. But where was Mr Hirst I asked Simon Yates, “Doing what he loves most,” was the reply. “Wrestling?” I inquired. Incorrect, “he's by himself beneath the bedsheets,” was the verdict from Yates. I have no further questions, Ned has already apologised to me for spending too long 'conditioning' in my shower, I don't need to meditate too deeply on what occurs in Jonny's bed at night-time. In the absence of Mr Hirst, the sizeable gap in SHEER ENTHUSIASM was filled by two other 5s stalwarts, Tom Weightman and Chris Thomas.
CT is a curious beast, he's asked to be mentioned in The Banker several times now, but Chris, I'd write about you if there was anything interesting to say! His attempts at seducing Juan have all stalled, and Barry Chuckle and Rob Ward too have resisted the alluring hands of CT. Experienced in a certain kind of exam the hands of CT have reduced many a man to a trembling mess, though so far this season only Tom Robb and Rawhide have succumbed to his sweet nothings. With a glint in his eyes and a maniacal cackle he rejoices in the misfortune of others, before sinking into the nepenthe of a pint and ruminating on what could have been. You can still make the 1s, Chris, we've all heard you talk about how great your leads are. A final two notes on the bar crawl. I hear that with an almighty heaving Young Fletch redecorated The Fox and Duck with a fresh coat of paint, before being rapidly escorted off the premises in case the bar staff became aware of his modifications. And for those of you interested in my private life, The Banker is no place for salacious gossip and rumour! Though the person in question again confirmed that they were “very glad” for the 3 day weekend and that they were not held against their will.
Syph idolises my dentist, a regular at the gym. Having had a dental appointment on Monday morning, in the evening I took the opportunity to introduce Syph to a man that he has watched from the shadows for 5 years, sweat beading at his temple as he tried to understand the feelings of confusion that led to his disturbed voyeurism. Bankers, Syph shouts at you because you're weak, but my dentist is a man of overwhelming strength and in front him Syph became a babbling wreck, struggling to contain the pent up feelings of admiration he's acquired over the years. The man is so freakish that he boasted to me - while I was reclined in the dentist's chair, complete with goggles and bib – that he doesn't even train to be stronger, that he snaps tendons as his body fails to match pace with the insane growth of his muscles. In the words of Syph, “the man is a weapon.” As I struggled to walk with a weight of 120kg, my dentist pointed out that surely I could handle more and that his own limitation was the carpet which began to sink and catch at 300kg. Needless to say, Syph will be training with an increased fervour from now on in a vain attempt to catch his eye. The love of woman is not enough for this man. Finally, there will be a monthly Banker this Sunday which will feature a round-up of club news.