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Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
From: abw@dsbc.icl.co.uk (Andy Wardley)
Subject: AFU UK III - The Strange Case of Dissappearing Pete
Date: Tue, 3 Jan 1995 09:55:28 GMT

As I was preparing my hasty review of AFU UK III, I seem to recall a bout of editing which may have resulted in the complete and utter disappearance of a paragraph or two.

I can't remember what went, but I suspect it was the bit about Pete Bentley and his boyish good looks. Sorry about that Pete. With a few deft keyswipes of the mighty sword of vi, I managed to cleave your existence completely from AFU UK III.

Unforgiveable really, but my excuse is that I had a woman standing over me, making impatient noises because we were "supposed to leave over an hour ago, traffic on the M6, parents expecting us, blah, blah, etc..."

From: mpage@jungle.achilles.net (Madeleine Page)
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
Subject: AFU UK III Report: Overseas Division
Date: 05 Jan 1995 15:14:38 GMT

So, Wardley the Wonder Winky chose the venue for AFU UK III (and if you have to ask...). And provided directions for getting there (and then you *do* have to ask).

Evening therefore began with half an hour of charging around Trafalgar Square trying to figure out which of sixteen large roads was the one "right opposite Charing Cross station where you come out, and you walk up a bit and there it is", asking passers by and being treated with that mixture of condescension and casual contempt that Brits reserve for those they take for Ugly Americans.

Finally get to the dratted pub and find a huge barn of a place in which every last loudmouthed accountant in London has gathered for a Christmas party. Unbelievable noise. Lots of British braying. Nasal laughter. Little woofs and snorts of privilege. Cellular phones. G and Ts. In short, wankers and plonkers of every stripe. Any one of which could have been WtWW.

I shoulder my way through the braying crowd. Say 'eh, eff you' experimentally a few times to likely looking chaps. Get looks that can only be described as both old and peculiar. Change the call, try 'fuck'em and throw'em to the wolves' as I gaze enquiringly at the malformed beings I think are likely Wardleys. Finally I decide to leave and disconsolately push my way through the crowd, savagely muttering 'really weeny winky'.

As I leave the pub, a tall pony tailed lad of stunning youth and good looks stares at me and starts sliding his jacket off his shoulders like a transvestite torch singer. Hormones aflame, I see the World's Ugliest T Shirt upon which is inscribed a butt-ugly fish. Choruses of 'ay eff yooooo' waft around this improbabl vision.

Suddenly acquiring a sizeable chunk of seasonal goodwill, I give the young stranger a warm but suitably auntly hug. Luckily it turns out to be Andy. Lots of grins and hiyahs all round. Lots of Andy abuse about the venue and the directions for getting there.

We all waited around looking for Steven Zatman who was rumoured to be arriving with his brother. Matching Zatmen were sought. Finally Steve arrived without the brother, but with a six pack of Zima. We all waited around looking for Tony Sweeney and friend. They never did arrive.

So there they all were. Andy WtWW, whose engagement must have made many maidens mourn. (I expected him to be ugly but intelligent. How wrong can a woman be?) Andy (a.m.) Welsh who looks as if he's about to play someone named Horst in a really bad WWII film. Pete Bentley: great grin, sardonic, mischievous, shy, a watcher. Jim, shy, a self-confessed lurker, lots of quiet grins, nice presence. Steve, who finally had enough alcohol to admit he was a geophysicist or some such (by then we'd matched him beer for beer and couldn't quite figure out what he was saying).

And then there was Ewan <sigh> In a suit. (Waitaminnit. This man I had imagined with tattoos, cigs rolled into his t shirt sleeve, a fuck-you-buster attitude? In a *suit*?)

Well there he was, this bloke in a suit. Nicest eyes I've seen in oh, twenty or thirty years or so. Hyper intelligent. Funny. Warm. Makes great contact. Hoooo. We talked about his daughter (he's besotted), his SO (he's besotted), beer (he's besozzled), object relations, infant colic and attachment theory. (Big advantage of afu is it's so bloody eclectic).

And so it went. We all debated where to go next and, proving our rank collective stupidity, we opted for Andy's suggestion of where we might eat. Yup. That's what afu, old beer and new friends will do to you. Wreck your judgement, ruin your liver and take you from a pissy pub to an awesomely awful Amerikan-style restaurant in great company.

The pub we finally stayed in until closing time was good though. Andy didn't choose it. And then Andrew (aimless.meandering) Welsh provided excellent company on a long walk that included a stop at the Leicester Square funfair to stare at a bunch of folk who'd had even more to drink that we had.

Thanks, guys. Great time. A real delight to meet each of you. I'm back in February: how about AFU UK III.v? Only two rules: anyone but Wardley gets to choose the venue and gove directions for getting there. And I get to buy the first round.

Madeleine 'Winkies? Pork swords? Hah! I acquired a large Spotted Dick while I was there' Page

From: zatman@geophysics.harvard.edu (Stephen Zatman)
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.urban
Subject: Re: AFU UK III: Overseas part II
Date: 6 Jan 1995 15:57:14 GMT

'cos I'm lazy, I'm just going to quote parts of Madeleine's fine account of the evening (after all, could I ever do better?) and make a few little alterations where I see fit.

In <bignumber@weirdplace>, Madeleine writes: !>Evening therefore began with half an hour of charging around Trafalgar Square !>trying to figure out which of sixteen large roads was the one "right opposite !>Charing Cross station where you come out, and you walk up a bit and there it !>is", asking passers by and being treated with that mixture of condescension !>and casual contempt that Brits reserve for those they take for Ugly !>Americans.

I just asked a security guard. And then I had to wait like 20 minutes in a queue to get in the pub, and I was all, "this is a yuppie joint, the AFUers of old London
Town can't possibly be members of the Young Pinstripe Brigade?" So there I was thinking that I would be the most underdressed person in one of these newfangled smokeless bars with clean doorknobs. How wrong I was.

!>I shoulder my way through the braying crowd. Say 'eh, eff you' !>experimentally a few times to likely looking chaps. Get looks that can only !>be described as both old and peculiar. Change the call, try 'fuck'em and !>throw'em to the wolves' as I gaze enquiringly at the malformed beings I think !>are likely Wardleys. Finally I decide to leave and disconsolately push my !>way through the crowd, savagely muttering 'really weeny winky'. !>
!>Suddenly acquiring a sizeable chunk of seasonal goodwill, I give the young !>stranger a warm but suitably auntly hug. Luckily it turns out to be Andy. !>Lots of grins and hiyahs all round. Lots of Andy abuse about the venue and !>the directions for getting there.
!>
!>We all waited around looking for Steven Zatman who was rumoured to be !>arriving with his brother. Matching Zatmen were sought. Finally Steve !>arrived without the brother, but with a six pack of Zima. We all waited !>around looking for Tony Sweeney and friend. They never did arrive.

Actually, I thought the pub was like AFU - several hundred people all screaming at the top of their lungs for attention. I walked in with the misapprehension that I was looking for an unbelievably handsome bald guy, an unbelievably handsome guy with a ponytail, and an unbelievably handsome aryan-type guy, but when I walked in there was Andy "T-shirt but no fiancee" Wardley, (too scared to have a Good Time with us, eh, Wardley? I think she meant to come but spent the night lost in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square), Ewan ":-)" Kirk, Madelaine "nothing to cure jet lag like a good hangover" Page, Pete Bentley, who I can only call a prophet after predicting that the pub would be "full of drunken
accountants in high spirits after their office Christmas beano, throwing up in the
toilets and goosing any of the female staff they managed to drag down to the pub",
and Jim - who should be an example to us all, signal/noise wise.

!>Steve, who finally had enough alcohol to admit !>he was a geophysicist or some such (by then we'd matched him beer for beer !>and couldn't quite figure out what he was saying).

Madelaine had admitted to being Canadian very early on in the evening. Andy Welsh, on the other hand, denies it to this day. I was thinking of pretending to be a yank myself, but I ruined it by opening my mouth.

!>And then there was Ewan <sigh> In a suit. (Waitaminnit. This man I had !>imagined with tattoos, cigs rolled into his t shirt sleeve, a fuck-you-buster !>attitude? In a *suit*?)

did I notice a slight tendency for London based AFUers to be merchant bonkers? Was there anything suspicious about the way both Pete and Ewan left early, clutching important-looking breifcases?

I never want to have to earn a decent living.

!>And so it went. We all debated where to go next and, proving our rank !>collective stupidity, we opted for Andy's suggestion of where we might eat. !>Yup. That's what afu, old beer and new friends will do to you. Wreck your !>judgement, ruin your liver and take you from a pissy pub to an awesomely !>awful Amerikan-style restaurant in great company.

But they had quorn - which, if you believe the advertisements, is a mushroom-like foodstuff grown by Marlow Foods, but in reality is a fungus made in vats by ICI. But if they had that in Amerika I'd be a happy man.

!>Thanks, guys. Great time. A real delight to meet each of you.

For me too.

!>I'm back in
!>February: how about AFU UK III.v? Only two rules: anyone but Wardley gets to !>choose the venue and gove directions for getting there. And I get to buy the !>first round.

It seems that Madelaine likes the old place. Have a great time. Maybe if there's an A FUUK 3.75 sometime....

Stephen "I want to run an experiment - anybody have a spare email address

so that I can pretend to be...... Canadian?" Zatman