Sensible Me

The tradition of eventful weekends in Manchester was just about kept alive this weekend, but for once, I was very much out of the ascendency as a certain Colin stepped up to the plate to let loose and bruise Manchester.

I was excited, as is usual, on the Friday as I set off for the long walk to Sainsbury's to meet Colin. No, I did not walk all the way to Manchester, as that would have been silly. It was a long old journey to Sainsbury's, passing a group of 12-year old weed smokers, that show the absolute worst of Bedford society. I was even re-directed by a randomer back to the gym, as she thought I was going to the gym with my huge bag. No love, I'm off to get wasted.

After waiting for an age for Colin to finish his shift and then get ready while I bought him a crate of Sol Campbell, we jumped in the car belonging to one of Colin's friends, and drove as quickly as possible to Milton Keynes station, where we were due to jump on the 6.50 train to Manchester Piccadilly. We made it just in time, sacrificing Colin's ankle along the way, and relaxed and spoke about what the upcoming weekend had to offer. Literally anything was on the cards, given the previous experiences in this wild and vibrant Northern city. We arrived fairly late on the Friday, which is standard procedure, and immediately got the ball rolling. Friday nights are traditionally "5th Av" nights, given the taste of music, but this time there was a special event on at a place called 'Avici White'. It sounded modern, and it was, and I was looking forward to it despite the £5 entry fee. Upon leaving, I was at a good rating on the drunken scale, and despite the taxi driver not knowing where he was going, we arrived in pretty good time and enjoyed a good night. Everyone got very drunk, (some more than others, with me at the bottom of the list). The highlights of the night were the huge relief of finding Billie's "stolen" camera and... we'll leave it at that. I think something a bit controversial happened, but seeing as I was well out of the way, it would be wrong of me to speculate! At the end of the night, (I think it was around 3.30am by this stage), I ushered everyone into a taxi and we made the long trip home. Beddoe's new house is a bit out of the way from his last, so every trip took a good 20-30 minutes. As we walked, (or stumbled), into the house, I settled down on one of the two sofas, discovering, to my delight, that they were infinitely more comfortable than the slabs of concrete and sponge at Beddoe's old house, and I think we talked for about an hour about nothing in particular, before falling asleep at 5am...

Some people awoke on Saturday morning, (or afternoon), with quite a hangover, but not me! It's always good when that happens, and I think the plan for the day was to travel another long journey to the Arndale to get some food, and do a bit of shopping before the agreed Nando's to line the stomach before another night of craziness.. I don't think anyone could be bothered with shopping. There were too many tired legs around to walk through the vastness that is the Arndale, so after we ate our variety of late lunches, we walked around a few shops then called it a day. We got back to Beddoe's at about 5 and decided on playing FIFA 12.

Now. Beddoe knows I simply cannot go through this blog post without mentioning this amazing moment. Despite being a Football Manager fanatic, when it comes to FIFA, I am quite possibly the worst player there is. I have not played on any sort of console for about 2 years, and no FIFA game since about 2006, where I snapped my FIFA 2005 disc in frustration at being useless. My reluctance to play at first subsided, as I chose Bayern Munich to face Beddoe's unbeatable United team, (not that they showed that in real life yesterday). I was not confident. I set out a 4-5-1 formation, (not that I was given a choice), and attempted to not embarrass myself. What happened though, was a 2-1 win for me that ended up in Beddoe being embarrassed at losing to a complete novice, and me, delighted with a maiden FIFA 12 win. I then followed this up with a win against Colin, by the same scoreline, with the same team, and I was an instant hit!

I was unable to add to my wins, as the time for Nando's had arrived. No need to go into detail here, as amazing chicken was had by all, and I claimed a free quarter chicken. Free chicken is nicer chicken.

As we headed back to the house, I let everyone know that I would be taking it easy in the upcoming night out. The destination of choice was 5th Avenue, a place where I lost my last liver and half of my stomach, and I promised everyone, (including myself), that there would not be a repeat. There wasn't a lot of time for pre-drinks as we got home, as more FIFA dominated proceedings, so with just a single vodka and orange inside me, we left the house to catch the night bus to the club to end all clubs.

I'm sure you've heard of this place. "5th Av" is 90% of the reason why Manchester nightclub goers end up in A&E. They sell double vodka red bulls at a stupid price, with shots at an even lower one, and the amount of vomit that ends up on the floor in this place is enough for the most hardened of people to gag. "5th Av" is the resting place of my former liver, and "5th Av" is a club that really should care more about how much alcohol they give to people. It was a naturally slow start to the night, with people still recovering from the night before and me, taking it easy, as promised. All of a sudden however, Colin decided to "go for it", ordering 2 double vod-bulls and putting them together to make a quadruple. Him and Chris both did it, and later on in the night, after Beddoe had had a lot aswell, me and Billie watched from the sides as Beddoe swayed around the dancefloor in his usual drunken demeanour whilst Colin pulled what was described by Chris, as a "water buffalo". It's not as if I wasn't drinking at all, after a fair few JD and cokes, I was in the massive kerfuffle of dancers on the biggest dancefloor in Northern England, dancing through classics from Oasis and Arctic Monkeys, (that seemed to please Colin...) For most of the night though, I accompanied Colin as he first went outside to try and coax randomers out of cigarettes, (when he doesn't smoke), and then claim to "trip out" upon one puff of a small fag-end that someone gave him. It was funny to watch, and embarrassing at the same time, and as we went back inside, the real fun started.

He had made straight for the first girl he saw. Unfortunately for him, and everyone around him, this girl wasn't exactly Cheryl Cole. The fact she ended up attempting to reject him for the best part of 90 minutes was even more embarrassing for the lad, but he never gave up. For the final moments of the night out, we had a dance to club classics, while shaking our heads at the apparent misfortune/luckiness of Colin's plight before forcing him to leave. I was fairly sober by this stage, and we boarded the busiest night bus ever to go home. It was a long old journey, made slightly funnier by some random old woman pulling Colin's trousers down, but as we got home, I felt incredibly tired, and after losing my 100% record, rather embarrassingly, to a heavily intoxicated, (and apparently blind) Mr.Beddoe, I made my way downstairs to my comfy sofa.

I could go on to talk about our trip to The Vic pub to watch the Manchester derby, but I think we'll leave it there. Beddoe's face at the time told a thousand words, as we watched United being pummelled and then thrown in the trash, surrounded by City fans, who were delerious.

The train home wasn't fun, cramped in the aisle surrounded by "football traffic", but it was a good weekend. I was pleased it went well, and both nights were good without any... hiccups. Colin stole the show, and I'm pleased he did, because if he didn't, I probably would of done! And we didn't want that did we!