Sunday 11th December 2005

Dad had to catch an early afternoon train so we settled for a farewell pint in Doctor Duncan’s which is close enough to the station. Trevor joined us and talk turned to doing things off the cuff and on a whim. We agreed that it’s a rare thing these days for people to simply take off and have a good time without first trawling through brochures, buying insurance, informing loved ones, informing the boss, informing the wife, packing a sensible bag and not forgetting your toothbrush. But the near-lost art of the impromptu bender is a magnificent one, one that we can’t give up to history and less hectic times, and one that should be resurrected as a staple part of everyday life.

Trevor engaged in a magnificent European jaunt earlier this year, arriving at the airport with nothing more than a willing companion, a passport, and a credit card. No baggage, and no idea where they were going until they looked at the departures board. Furthermore, whenever they decided to return to the airport to get a flight home (because they should have been at work) they booked a flight to an even better destination instead. That’s outstanding behaviour. They only returned at all because his passport was going to expire a day later.

Trevor only told me the sordid tale this weekend and I’ll never grow tired of hearing it. The joy is in the details. They only booked business class seats anywhere because they didn’t serve drinks in economy, and besides, even if you can’t afford it (ESPECIALLY if you can’t afford it), the art of the bender is to conquer guilt and refuse apology, so therefore it’s imperative you spend three month’s wages on business class seats instead of paying a fraction of that for the same flight sat up the back.

It’s also absolutely imperative to do it on the company’s time, without a word of warning before leaving and daily phone calls home with more outrageous excuses for your absenteeism. Otherwise it’s just a holiday, after all.

We saw Dad off on his train to London, and might I say what an absolute pleasure it’s been having him here – I hope he enjoyed it as much as I did. Neither Trevor or myself had our passports with us so we couldn’t leave the country but hit upon a more modest idea of going to Manchester and drinking margaritas in Rodeo. A train was leaving in a couple of minutes so we sat ourselves in First Class and set off. Again, First Class is imperative for the reasons outlined above, you can achieve no guilt through modesty.

There was a very attractive Russian girl in the first class compartment and yet when the ticket inspector informed her she only had a standard class ticket, she was forced to vacate her seat. Trev and I, now totally in the spirit of things, quickly looked at each other and came to exactly the same conclusion. “Excuse me�, we said to the woman ticket inspector. “We’ll pay for the young ladies upgrade.� The Russian girl, probably on the lookout for a generous husband, smiled at the offer but before she could take it up the inspector said “No, you won’t� and ushered her into standard class.

Remarkable! It was like being told off at school. Trev had paid for the tickets and told the inspector she could keep the £3 change when she couldn’t find any. This is outstanding generosity and perhaps the very first time anyone’s made that sort of offer in the 30 years she might have been working on the railways. Strangely, she just said “Okay�, pocketed the cash and wandered off.

You’d think that seeing as we’ve been that pleasant to her she’d have allowed us to buy the Russian girl the upgrade. What’s more, even if we hadn’t been nice to her, it’s still our right to buy anyone an upgrade we see fit. Pardon the pun.

Also, before you assume we were being smarmy and stockborkerish, that’s not the case at all. Had we been allowed to buy the young lady her upgrade, we wouldn’t have wanted her to join us at out table, we would have nodded to her and then got on with our conversation privately, because that would have been honourable and classy – not in the least threatening or showy.

But we were denied performing this deed and I still think that’s crazy.

We watched the Man Utd vs Everton match in a dreadful bar called Wave underneath The Britannia hotel. Manchester police have cut down on city centre bars showing live football because it’s turned ugly once too often but that’s annoying because you can’t find anywhere pleasant to watch the game anymore. Pint’s a pint though and after a few we were ready for business – and that business was drinking margaritas.

I’ve written about Rodeo before and it really is a unique joint. They have a menu of wonderfully pure margaritas, and margaritas only, which are made from high end tequila and natural flavourings. We ordered the entire menu, a trick I’ve performed in there before, and proceeded to get mindlessly twisted.

You can tell when Trevor and me are drunk because we practice punching each other in the face. Not in a fight, you understand, but just as a sort of gentlemanly duel. He demonstrated the usefulness of the upper-cut and I practiced my chin shots. It’s crazy stuff.

The party broke up at around ten which Trevor making his way to the door in the traditional way; without much warning or notice. This is standard behaviour and perfectly acceptable. We all do from time to time – it’s almost expected.

The important thing about this afternoon and this evening was it was done on a whim, and was even more fantastic entertainment for that. It’s a sorry world we live in that some people might classify it as irresponsible or wrong. It isn’t. It’s just a case of remembering that we don’t have to be downtrodden and grey every single day or our lives. We all deserve the good times, folks!

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