The vital statistics:12,861 steps, mostly between the bar and the bathroom. We even managed to disagree on the location and best approach to one bar by splitting into two groups and converging in a pincer attack on the Tiki bar, just in case we met any opposition.
Meal for 4 at the Goucho, Argentinian Steak bar - £260 (well worth it though). We have come a long way since settling for cream cheese bagels at 3am in the centre of London...
Quantity of drinks: Classified, but let me put it this way, the shots were introduced at a surprisingly early point in the afternoon.
Taxi: a staggering £58 to get to Wilmslow in a black cab, I have a strong dislike of taxis (even though my cousin is a taxi driver). It was only £30 for one of our party to return to his well chosen hotel in the centre of Manchester (I failed spectacularly to give a clear indication of where my flat was). I am sure Sam at one point observed the lights of Blackpool as our cab went on a mystery tour.
Number of bars assessed: 5 (estimated), Not counting the pint at the hotel (14:30), we went more or less straight for the food (cocktails, pints and red wine), moving on to the Tiki (mostly G&T although the group was evenly split over pints and gin). The shots were 'fired' in the Tiki at around 16.00. I even noticed, with dismay, that Hamilton crashed in Brazil (on the TV obviously) I did not realise the implications of his crash at that point, but I digress. We consumed a very sticky vanilla liquor called 43, tasted okay but had the consistency of cough syrup. It begins to get hazy, but I recall there being more ice in my glass than sank the Titanic. I remember sucking the lime and crunching the ice once I had finished the good bit. The drinks were also served in plastic glasses and cups, well worth the money!
The order of the following bars was not that clear. We went for a walk to get to the Albert Schloss, in a bid to get to some live music. My sense of direction failed me and, despite my printed map, I was unable to locate the bar. I resorted to more modern technology in the shape of Google Maps on my phone, but the location indicator was jumping about in a manner not too dissimilar to the one in the Aliens movie. Sam graciously blamed the surrounding tall buildings, but we were losing valuable drinking time, after all it was 17.00! We stumbled, literally, into the Oast House, a place which immediately gave me my bearings again. One or three drinks later, we moved on.
The next bar (I think) was a The Dirty Martini, where we had er Martinis... The first one was a kind of coffee version and the subsequent one for me was a 'plain one' with olives. Sorry 007, I am clueless about Martinis, the only thing I know is my first experience was not favourable but I was willing to give it another go. The Albert Schloss had a queue outside and being mature 40 somethings, we don't queue. We moved on to the low point in the evening (from a drinking perspective), we went into a Brewdog bar (sorry Spider, not the kind of drink my fellow musketeers liked to imbibe). That said, we needed the toilet and we were too old to use an alleyway and it was way too early to chance it in desperation.
In my kind of thoughtful way, I had procured some provisions for my guests, these lay in my flat some distance south, south east of our location. A decision was made to deploy south after a brief stop at the hotel to collect overnight bags. In an act of poor planning I had bought some Peroni without any real prospect of us drinking it. My purchase was not to be in vain. Upon arrival I started to cook breakfast, bacon rolls (I was starving and I had two packs of bacon to get through, guess what I had for breakfast and lunch on Sunday?). I did not last long and was a rather poor host as I left the lads to it. I had pre-prepared the beds, but had forgotten to warn them that the internal doors tend to be impossible to open if fully shut, in the event it was not a problem.
Key highlights of the weekend:
I greeted Phil and Sam from the mezzanine at the railway station, saying Mo will be coming from platform 13 and that I would be right down. Like an excited child I skipped down the escalator, not knowing that Phil and Sam had gone to the opposite one to meet me on the mezzanine. Cue the comedy moment of them hailing me from above and then being told to stay right there! You could tell who were fathers among us! Mo, in the meantime was through the barriers and was consulting his phone, Sam and Phil initially walked past before being waved by me back in his direction. After an appropriate amount of man hugging for a public place, we led off to the hotel.
WhatsApp was used to great effect to build the excitement as we took the mick across the ether. Sam had a running commentary as to whether he would make it to the train in London (not a bet I would recommend). Mo seemed to have an encounter with a horse called Penrith Jackie, although don't quote me on that. Phil was most concerned about the un-swept slippery leaves on the streets of Ealing. Unsurprisingly, Brexit and Trump came up in the topic of conversation, coincidentally with the words balls-up and twat for much of the discussion.
It is a far cry from losing my memory having drunk bottles of K Cider in Aberdeen during the 90s. Both Phil and I have similar memories of Manchester and Aberdeen in that neither of us can remember where anything is despite numerous visits...
All in all a great weekend and another in the pipeline soon, most likely Newcastle.
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