15 Squarrites
were up for it including Keithee:
Yup, Mid Week Tone, Dave Dangerous? Byrne, Ali Gee, R Gee Bargee,
Granpop Bill, Richee, Beardee, JayCee, Craigee, D Ceen, Chuckee, Scottie,
Gerben, and Keithee 'I'm on for it'
The original plan to catch a train via Crewe came off the rails, due to
the anticipated surprise tasting of real ale at Crewe Station being a figment
of someone’s imagination (no names mentioned but we were going on a
Thursday). So, the booking of two 8-seater minibuses (through Intercity
cabs), originally booked by Chuckee for the return leg only, were changed
to include for both ways at £80 return per bus (roughly a tenner each
return). One was booked to pick up Dave Dangerous Byrne, RGee BarGee and
Ali Gee at Harry’s Bar in Glebe Street at 6pm, and with a further pick up
at the Westbury at 6.10pm. The second minibus was to pick up at the Westbury
only, around 610pm.
The travel arrangements were reviewed several times throughout the
preceding days, as the numbers shifted up and down more often than a whore’s
drawers. Could you believe it, our one
and only IT guy. Dangerous Dave, had to ask for confirmation of the
arrangements because he hadn’t been able to open up the email attachment
previously sent out with details of the event.
What is the world coming to??
The transport was spot on. The
same couldn’t be said for several squarrites who couldn’t make it. Trig was on the pull, (at the dentists
allegedly !), so failed to make it; and stayed at home with the infamous organ
grinder. (Sorry Mrs T), and Spikelett got plastered at home and couldn’t
remember what day it was, let alone that he was letting his fellow squarrites
down.
Claims that Scottie has been spotted at the incinerator dumping his wife
had been rubbished. ‘I was only
dropping a couple of tinnies off’, he yelled, as they dragged him away for
interrogation. Thankfully, they
released him in time for tonight’s squarree.
We met up with Keithee, who had been taxi’d in from Sandbach by a
neighbour, in The Oddfellows Arms in Welsh Row. Top Hat, Farrier Bitter and Burtonwood were on tap. A dart board beckoned, and the squarrites
lined up on the hockey. Who said the
old image of darts players as beer-swilling, big-bellied brutes is definitely
now a thing of the past.
A dazzling darts display was put on by Ali ‘The Power’ Gee brushing
aside first challenger John ‘Boy Walton’ Cee; followed by a weakening pack of
Gerben ‘The Flying Dutchman’ (who got confused with going for double dutch),
Craigee, who couldn’t decide whether to go for a double top or a treble to
finish his game, Keithee, who was ‘up for it’ but was seeing double and split
the eleven instead, and finally Beardee who claimed he was blinded by the
dazzling darts legend Yup ‘Bobby George’.
It only goes to show that hog hunting with spears in Neck-end improves
your chucking, (and yet Stubbee lives in Clayton!).
Jaycee
couldn’t accept the loss and head butted a lamp, imitating Dobby the house-elf
from the Harry Potter films. Feeling
light headed he anchored on about the butter he’d stopped spreading on his
toast to bring his cholesterol down.
Before we got too carried away, Richee bought up the autumn trip (not
literally) and various venues were suggested. After mulling it over, Cologne
became the evening’s favourite destination.
The second pub for the real alers was The Black Lion, serving Weetwood
ales; of which the Old Dog proved most popular. Gerb, suffering from real ale overload, opted for coke, which was
served flat. You should have stuck to
the ale. The place was full of aged
hippies and packs of greyhounds, or lerchers according to Keithee. Candles adorned every table, nook and
cranny. It was just like being at home
in Neck-end. Some of the locals
enquired about the tee shirts and suggested the creation of a local Nantwich
branch. It’ll cost em.
It was time for JayCee to go to the gents, now that DCeen had already
been. So pleased to have lasted so
long, he smashed into the door, like Dobby again, blaming the 2 foot square
door-stop.
The
trendees amongst the group had ventured to Kershaws, the old Cheshire Cat, instead of The Black Lion in
search of tottee. Regrouped, we headed for the town centre and Naaz’s. Beardee, still suffering from his crushing
defeat at the hands of ‘The Power’, sank a bucket of aspirins to ease the pain.
Naaz’s is a trad Indian. We were
shown to 2 separate tables divided by a couple of young wenches, who were
reluctant to settle their bill and provide us with a single long table. That was until they saw us of course.
It was some time before we ordered the traditional pappodoms. R Gee Bargee was starving, despite having devoured 10 wrights pies on the bus to
Stoke an hour earlier. Eventually, the
paps arrived and Ali Gee held them up like an Embassy World Darts Trophy
award. Beardee, still popping the pills,
announced this was to be his last outing.
Extremely perplexed at losing on the hockey to Ali ‘The Power’ Gee, ‘The meal was shi-te, cross me off the list’
he shouted across the restaurant. Not
the best curry, but funnily enough, the rest of us thought it was ok but agreed
they probably wouldn’t return here in the near future either.
Ali produced a neck-end timetable for stage coaches to Meir Park, which
he was going to take home to crayon on.
The minibuses were waiting as requested at 11pm and we were whizzed off
home in a flash.
Best I can do,
Yupmeister