Paragliding isn’t all about flying through exotic lands. Most of the time is spent bludging around waiting for the wind to pick up, or drinking Bintangs by the pool with your mates, or stripping off in public while the locals hoot and holler like rabid monkeys. This is the story of a night out with my mate Richard ‘The Hamster’ Ham, a man who struggles to remain fully frocked at the best of times, but who becomes a walking arrest warrant once beer is added.
After another long day of zipping around Candidasa at great heights and rehydrating with bulk Bintang on the beach afterwards, me, The Hamster and Jed headed out for a feed at Bali’s most exclusive restaurant, La Rouge, where the waiter even places a napkin over your lap. I was grateful for this, as I had wet my pants and needed something to mop up the mess. Anyway, the food was brilliant and, full of beer and Long Island Iced Tea, we tootled off to a local nightspot, where the trouble started.
The place was deserted bar for a group of volatile Germans in one corner and a bored-looking band packing up in the other. While the Hitler Youth were shouting about world domination “the fucking Jews”, the band were sombre , and refused to start playing for us. As we slumped dejectedly at the bar, a strange man man appeared from the shadows and presented us with the most hideous smile time has ever known. This character looked like he’d been kicked in the mouth by a horse and had a special needs child glue everything back together. He had about seven teeth, none of which pointed in the right direction, and were coated in a thick, brown goo.
Toothy’s negotiation skills were as good as his ability to play with his balls, and before long we came to a financial agreement that had the band picking up their instruments again. The deal was not, however, sealed with a handshake. As the band tumbled headfirst into a unique interpretation of Wonderwall, we celebrated by smashing beers and ignoring the deranged sexual advances of Toothy, who just couldn’t leave his fuckin’ balls alone.
I can honestly say that we kickstarted the band’s professional career that night, because I can’t imagine anyone else would’ve paid them to play. They were awful, with only a rudimentary understanding of the concept of music and a set list that consisted of Don’t Believe Me Just Watch! and a number of jams that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a Nazi concentration camp.
The Hamster is a former drummer with legendary Pommy band The Jimmy Savile Experience (they might want to think about renaming themselves if they ever reform), and soon became enraged by the lackadaisical attitude of the drummer, who spent the majority of the performance looking at his imitation iPhone and yawning. He stormed the stage and threw the teenager to the ground before taking his place behind the drums, where he busted out some lightning beats that even had the Hitler Youth grooving around.
Jed and I took his lead and threw the other members off the band off the stage and took their place. We performed a rocking set of classic rock songs and stuff we came up with on the spot, and the masses poured in to dance and sing along and throw their panties at us. The Hamster became so caught up in the moment that he took off his clothes without missing a beat, which sent the ladies in the audience into raptures. Toothy, meanwhile, simply continued playing with his balls.
We finished off with a rousing rendition of Stairway to Heaven that was deemed by all in attendance to be better than the original and were carried out into the street by our adoring fans. They chanted our names as they carried us through the night, eventually dropping us off at the Indomart because we all wanted Cornettos. During the ride my fans had stolen my clothes, meaning that two of us were now naked, with only Jed remaining decent.
Tragically, while searching for a Cornetto that hadn’t been defrosted and re-frozen a dozen times, The Hamster tripped over a dog and knocked over a large rack of imitation sunglasses, sending it crashing to the ground. With only a handful of rupiahs on him and no way to pay for the damage, he was forced to take up a job working in the Indomart for a couple of cents an hour. After loading up on ice creams, Jed and I left Hammy to work off his debt. He was later arrested by corrupt Indonesian police and is looking forward to spend the next 20 years in a cockroach-infested jail cell with a Chinese drug runner/sexual predator named Rodney Yap. I trust they’ll be very happy together.