The worst Christmas Guest story

My parents still tell about the time an old friend of theirs showed up at their door on Stephen's night unannounced (this was back in the 80s) it was their first Christmas married. He lived down the country, so they were a bit confused as to how the dude (let’s call him Tom) got there, because he hadn't driven and there was no bus. Anyhoo, they invite Tom in and give him a bit of dinner, etc. He gets stuck into the drink, and it appeared that he had already had a good few before he arrived.

The night wears on and he shows no signs of getting ready to go. Meanwhile, he's finished all the cans of Guinness Dad had in for Christmas, and is making steady progress through the bottle of Christmas brandy. It's getting pretty late and he's had so much drink, they're concerned about sending him off out to find his own way back to wherever he's staying, so my Mum offers to make up the spare bed for him, he accepts, and while he's doing that, Dad goes into the kitchen and whips up a few sambos and a pot of coffee.

Tom wolfs down the sambos, declines the coffee, but enquires as to whether or not there's a glass of Creme de Menthe available. Dad says they haven't got any (they had, but at this stage the dude was apparently reeking of drink to the point that they were getting nervous about having him sitting near a naked flame)

They all head up to bed, and a while later, my parents are wakened by noise coming from downstairs. Dad goes to investigate and finds Tom pulling all the pots and pans out of the kitchen cupboards. He tells my Dad that he's looking for the chip pan, because he's making chips for all of them (at this point my Dad notices that there are potato peelings everywhere, and a massive pile of cut-up-potatoes sitting beside the cooker, all set to be fried. Dad eventually convinces him that 3am isn't the best time to be cooking chips, and gets him back up to bed. Dad chucks the potato peelings and "chips" out, tidies away the pots, and heads back to bed himself.

They wake up the next morning and Mum goes down and sticks on a fry, expecting that the delicious aroma will entice Tom down. No such luck, and by about 12, he still hasn't appeared and Mum was getting a bit concerned about whether he was ok. Dad was more of the impression that he was just sleeping one off, but he went upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door, and got no response. Eventually he opened the door and was simultaneously greeted with a wall of heat and a stench of piss. The "guest" was nowhere to be seen.

They never found out exactly where he went, but basically he had obviously pissed himself at some point during the night, like absolutely drenched the place, and on waking up and realising what had happened, decided to bail. But not before helpfully stripping the bed, and hanging the piss soaked sheet over the radiator and turning it up as high as it would go. Such was the volume of pee, that it had gone through the mattress and between the slats on the bed, wetting the carpet underneath. The sheets had to be binned and the mattress brought to the tip. They also couldn't get the smell and stain out of the carpet. Luckily, they had an off-cut in the attic, so they were able to cut out a piece and use the spare bit to replace it.

They were still wondering how he had gotten there and where he had disappeared to after quite literally blasting the place with piss, but they didn’t have to wait long to find out. On New Year’s Eve they went to a party at another mutual friend’s house, and while chatting to him, Dad said something like “Jesus, you won’t believe who arrived on our doorstep on Stephen’s night!”, the friend instantly goes “was it Tom?” and when my parents asked how they knew, their friend explained that he had invited Tom to stay with them for a couple of days over the Christmas, not realising how fond of the drink he had become in recent years. Apparently Christmas Eve was alright, he was a bit tipsy but nothing to write home about. However, Christmas night, he was absolutely sh1tfaced, and not only did he wet his own bed, he also must have gotten lost on his way to the bathroom because he’d pissed in their daughter’s wardrobe, too. Understandably, the friend and his wife were not impressed, and they asked Tom to leave the following morning. They don’t know where he spent the day (probably the pub) and then he either got a lift or walked to my parents’ house that night. Nobody knew where he headed after the night in my parents. Presumably some other poor unfortunates took him in for the night and either had their house burned down or woke to find it soaked in piss the following morning.