Everyone descended on the Rovers Return at 12:30 – and despite a quick ‘out of the blocks’ pace of some four drinks within the first hour (before the bushy burgers n chips et al) we did settle into a leisurely, measured rate of consumption that kept everyone at their most entertaining whilst not pushing anyone over the edge.
The saddle was an inspired venue – after the warmth of the Rovers, and the frost of the Cornerhouse, we were looking forward to a sensible cosy place. I am staggered at the amount of games of pool I have played in my life – and still am v v crap at the game. Sheesh. Then on to the British and the last of the dregs make it for the final stretch – manly bonding, arguments, piss-taking, upsetness (though I have no idea why/what/how), rambling jokes, shocking confessions of a sexual nature, more alcohmofrolics, trying to persuade some drunken gal to lapdance, guys getting picked up by their missus’s, last order cheeky southern comforts.
And, of course, the looooong walk home (cos I hate manx taxi’s. utterly despised).
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