The White Russian team visit "The Southerner"in Dublin

It seemed like such a good idea at the time - these things usually do.
 
J-man had invited the Kolonel and DOV to a house warming by the Southerner; one of our school colleagues who had gone to Dublin to study medicine.

The Kolonel was easily persuaded, given that it involved a party. Usually when explaining a trip like this, the Kolonel listens up to the point where the word "Party" enters the conversation, then proceeds to behave like a small dog with a large bone. He was in.


(J-man: "I've given this plenty of forethought, and I have planned the operation down to the smallest detail. The in depth regime is as follows, so listen closely as it is complicated:
Get your shit together, we are going to  get loaded and catch a train to Dublin.")  

(Kolonel: "Loaded, eh? Well, I can't see any flaws here. I'm in.")


(DOV: "Ah shit, not again).
(J-man: "Did I mention that the train leaves in 15 minutes from the other side of Belfast?")

So, we were off at a dead run to catch a taxi to catch a train to get loaded to go to Dublin.
It was going to be quite a day.


(Ladies and Gentlemen: The future of Medicine - DOV, on  a train, 12.30am in the Morning, Drinking. Awesome. Notice how pleased he looks that J-mans carefully thought out plan has somehow managed to thus far work. Sort of.)

Arriving at the Southerners house, DOV and the Kolonel show their respect for the great city that they shall be guests of for the night. The Kolonels building aggression at this point was to be a sign of things to come...

Important health and safety tip: Ever seen those "do not put in mouth" warnings on the side of cans of party string? They aren't fucking around... 

There is nothing fake about the face DOV is pulling as discovers the hard way that discharging a can of toxic foam into your mouth is a bad idea.

 
Our host for the evening, the Southerner, suddenly realizes the caliber and integrity of the people he has invited to share his home...


We headed out to a bar for the night.

There were initial problems getting in, but the J-man and the Southerner managed to make it with a little bit of help from the kung-fu skills of  TV's Jackie Chan.


In the club, the J-man met his Dublin counterpart... the sleaziest man in the south met the sleaziest man in the North.
After initial growling, butting of antlers and ritualistic showing of chest hair; they decided that they were stronger together than the sum of their parts... may the Lord God have mercy on all women kind.


One of the problems of a house party is finding somewhere to sleep. 
DOV sank to an new record all time low with this effort: in a shower tray, with a coat for a blanket and a packet of toilet roll for a pillow. He would have slept, to, had it not been for the J-man's constant mocking laughter from his comfy bed next door.
Bastard.

What followed the next day was one of J-mans all time greatest achievements.
He used what shall henceforth be known and feared as "J's formula" of finding the train terminal. It is as follows:

1) Pay small attention the day before as person who lives in city for years shows you how to get from train station to his house
2) Estimate the time this took.
3) Subtract this time from the time the train will depart the next day, and then subtract 5 minutes from this time.
4) This gives you the time you should leave, horribly hung over, to find your way back along the same route which you have only ever traveled once; in the opposite direction, at night.
5) Ensure that you have an important appointment to keep in Downpatrick, and that this train is the last possible one you can get to make it.
5) Shit yourself and get screamed at when you realize that the above has gone really, really wrong.

Following " J's Law", we found ourselves with the worst hangovers in history, running in what was probably the wrong direction, trying to find a building that we wouldn't recognize even if we saw it, carrying luggage. Through early morning traffic.

I have never seen such bad language from myself and the Kolonel, it's a shame that we have no pictures of it; but these are adequate substitutes:

                      

Arriving at the train station 10 minutes after the train was due to have left for the North, we wheezed and sweated our way to the information desk to be told that the train was delayed for half an hour.
I thank god every day that the giant mess that was the Kolonel didn't have the necessary reserves of strength needed to obliterate the J-man.

We boarded the train, and the J-man and myself ordered frys while the Kolonel was repeatedly sick.


Kolonel: Looking Sharp
DOV: Lost will to live
J-man: Taking photo, laughing. Bastard.

So: all in all a successful trip.
There was more than went on than can be published here. The Kolonel knows what I mean. But until we know the exact details of Northern Irelands extradition laws, I won't say...