Yuppie, Stubbie, Richie, Beardie, Craigee, Scottie, Mikee, Jaycee, D Cee.
(Mo let us down again, Keith is ‘not always on for it after all’, Tone was a on hols in Tossa,
and Bill had problems with his plumbing).
The choo choo train to Manchester arrived, not bang on time, but proper early; or so
we thought. Craigee only just had enough time to pay his first visit of the day. Actually
the train was late. We had caught the wrong train, but luckily it was still stopping at Piccadilly station, Manchester, on its way to
Aberdeen. I felt for the young female student sitting alongside me who was on her way to Edinburgh for the weekend with her parents. I felt for her a few times as it happens. Beardie had drawn the short straw this time and looked on with envy, from
where he was sitting next to a huge African gentleman, dribbling down his shirt, (that’s Beardie, not the african!).
The clouds opened as we passed through Congleton, but as luck had it, the sun came out as we arrived in
Manchester; well it would wouldn’t it? This time we were going to keep Jaycee in our sight to make sure we didn’t lose him again, like the last time when we made the same trip. Well, would you believe it? only a couple of minutes had passed when lo and behold, he’d disappeared again.
The cries yelled out and DCeen came racing back at full pelt, against the conveyor belt, to help track him down. Finally, out of
the mist, came JayCee, looking flustered and harassed. He had fastened his train ticket so tightly in his wallet that he couldn’t produce it to the ticket inspectors without a
full body search.
Michael, who was waiting to greet us at the station, was totally bemused by what was taking place before
his eyes. Especially the sight of his old man retreating along the walkway, jostling and falling into normal folk moving in the
opposite direction.
Finally, down a flight of steps and we were on the metro heading out to ‘The Knott’ in Deansgate, our
first port of call, just a couple of hundred yards from the G-Mex platform. Scottie pointed out that we were very close to ‘canal
street’, which was a popular haunt of his, or ‘anal treet’ as his mates called it.
The offerings were different to say the least in the Knott; strawberry, cherry and ginger beers for men,
and shag lager for Craigee and other boys. The cherry beer, which DCeen bought for Jaycee was £3.60 a pint. But we’ll keep that a
secret, don’t let on. And what’s more, he didn’t even like it.
Craigee urged the boys to have a quick saunter along to check out Dukes 92 which he vaguely remembered
visiting on a stag night. Stubbie preferred the window seats we’d moved into so that he could do a few moonies through the windows at
the traffic waiting at the traffic signals outside.
On retrieving the Beardie boys, we moved onto The Rain Bar. Previously
an umbrella shop/warehouse we are told. This establishment was a J.W. Lees outlet with their own brand of extra smooth.
We sat outside overlooking the canal, in the sunshine, which was hidden occasionally by a cloud or two.
Craigee was heard to cry ‘Mines a John Willie’ before legging it to the boys room for the 5th time in 2 hours. Its
claimed he’s got a bladder like a walnut. DCeen spied his chance after holding on as long as he could, and leapt the tables to chance
the high troughs in the gents before leading the way back to the Britons Protection, seller of a fine variety of whiskeys and provider of several smaller rooms and snugs. The upstairs area tempted the boys to stay at JW’s and we agreed to meet up later at Peverill of the Peak.
One fact that remains in my head is the thought that pigs evidently can ejaculate for up to 20 minutes. Maybe Scottie came out with this fine gem of information. Whoever it was, it made us all feel
totally inadequate, well, for a couple of minutes anyway.
It was at this point that a prayer was needed. A ‘Swiggin in
Wiggin’ Camra mag provided the following beer prayer:
Our bitter, which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink,
Thy will be drunk
I will be drunk,
At home as I am in the tavern.
Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us all our spillages.
As we forgive those who spill against us
And lead us not into incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers
For thine is the beer
The bitter and the lager
Forever and ever
Barmen
The trip to Prague and Scotties stag night crept into the conversation. Scottie appeared to be putting up resistance to Prague and seemed to be blowing it out. A recent reckie to Cyprus
for his wedding had exhausted his funds but luckily he’d just had enough notes to visit the ‘New Delhi Palace’ in Paphos for a curry. A
first for a squarrite in Cyprus? A major blow out in September was however suggested by Ritchie for Scotties stag night, at the ST1
club in Hanley, in addition????. A curry night and pole-ish dancing was on offer at £25.
Time was running out for Michael, as he was due to start back to work in ‘the club’ at 7ish. Mo had let us down and wasn’t taking calls on his mobile. Seems he’ll never get the hang of
these modern technical gadgets! So we headed off to the Indian, next to No 1 the Chinese restaurant near the Palace Theatre, via the offie.
Corkscrews were in abundance in the restaurant. Looks like
they were expecting us. Stubbie set off in the middle of the buffet again, forgetting his earlier decision to start at one end and work
along slowly. Making the most of the starters he demolished around 27 chicken legs but still had room for a few kebabs and bahjis,
before diving into the main courses. The food was plentiful but average I would say, ok ish. Any
other comments?
Michael made a swift exit to work and his old man popped the pills, cimetidne, to stop him changing into
the incredible hulk. Richie wanted to be mother but made a lousy job of it when he dropped the plates and made a right hash of a mess
on the table. Combined with DCeen’s bright seimen which was flipped around everywhere we went, (that’s what working in the private
industry does for you!), it was time to make our last move to O’Sha’s irish bar, across the road, for a quick’un, before returning back to the station. Just before leaving the Irish bar, Craigee went for his 14th trip to the loo. Upon returning to finish his malt whiskey it was gone. Did he
drink it before departing for the loo or had someone sneaked it down? Craigee went on and on all the way back, convinced he had been robbed of his parting shot. Can anyone solve
the mystery?
Another quick’un in Castle at Wetherspoons for some of us and it was beeddie byes for others.
Another suggestion came from today’s outing; Hooters in Nottingham. DCeen confirmed (with a smile on his face) that he had already been and a suggestion was made that Tone could check this one out for obvious reasons for a future
event. !!!!
Yupmeister