Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Everyone's mad in Mad-chester.

Fuck Inter Milan versus Tottenham in the San Siro in a couple of weeks, the big game was happening at Boundary Park last weekend. Leyton Orient versus Oldham Athletic in the N Power Football League One. A truly great occasion. So me, Ads and the two women in tow, jumped into my N reg Ford Fiesta Ghia, sped up the M6 with a box of twelve doughnuts and checked into the beautiful Lansdowne Hotel in the heart of Fallowfield. A hotel with as much charm as a pissed up northerner in a Wetherspoon pub. But for twenty quid a night each, who could complain?

Whilst me and Ads were witnessing a great 1-1 draw at the beautiful ground of Oldham, the girls were meeting Mrs Daley's kid for the first time; a boy by the name of Teddy Cameron. As you can see by the pictures he went down a storm. Meanwhile, at Boundary Park, the one hundred Leyton Orient fans who had made the 200 mile trip up north, were getting offered out by about two hundred scally boys dressed head to toe in Lacoste. I love English football.

Teddy was probably making the girls quite broody by this point; especially after three bottles of wine and sixty cigarettes. However, with me being unemployed and with a dodgy leg and with Ads living upstairs in his in-laws loft, I don't think the pitter patter of tiny feet will be heard in Hollywood Way anytime soon.

We met the girls in the Wetherspoons in Didsbury Village, they were all half cut; Jennifer in particular. She was very smiley and very loud, two sure signs of a messy afternoon. After getting chatted up at the bar by a rough looking bird named Kate (who showed us the tattoo of her ex-boyfriend's name on her tit) Me and Ads settled into an evening of drinking Fosters and Jager. I can't touch the Stella (us southern fairies have far too delicate stomachs for that muck)

The lovely blond lady on the right is Mandy, an old Uni friend of Jennifer's. She was drinking copious amounts of Vodka and Diet Coke, before talking about cocks and her old job working in a sex shop. She is a lovely girl who looks much younger than her years, and who apparently can make one hell of a cake. Oh, and she's a Scouse, but don't hold that against her!

We decided to crawl along a few of the pubs and bars of East Didsbury sinking JagerBombs and generally making pests of ourselves. The Nelson Inn was my favourite. Jennifer boogied on the non existent dance floor, I got my pigeon chest out, Ads put on some Johnny Cash, Kate sank about three ciders and Mandy talked about cocks. The night was getting off to a flying start.

So our weekend in Manchester was bringing back many memories of our Uni days. Particularly the amazing act that Mandy had mastered of making her tits grow in front of our very eyes. It also went down a treat with the drunk Burnage boys drinking at the bar. We decided to line our stomachs with a proper meal so ate some free monkey nuts in the Dog and Partridge, then stumbled on into the night.

Outside the Sanctuary, I was getting pretty pissed off with Jennifer because she wasn't paying me enough attention so licked her face a few times. I think she liked it. Mandy composed a song called 'Is that my wine?' The rest of us made up a few verses, which attracted the attention of a former Drum 'n' Bass MC sipping vodka on the table next to us. He proceeded to rap at us for the next half an hour. And I'm not being sarcastic here, but he was amazing. I don't know his name but I will be looking out for him. Or maybe I was just pissed. We'll never know.

The above picture is the album sleeve for Mandy's debut record 'Is that my wine?' featuring Thomas the Wank Engine and the Ginger Nut. Early readings have it hitting the Top 100 alongside that gay 'Joe' from the X Factor and the Blazin' Squad. It really is a beautiful anthem.

Jennifer didn't really enjoy the song. She's more of an East 17 type of gal.

Seven JagerBombs, a few bottles of wine, a lot of beer and a couple of bottles of vodka later, we were all ready to go to Happy Days to eat fried food. It was at this point when the lovely Mandy proposed to me in style; over chips in pitta bread. As you can see from the photo below I was overwhelmed by the sparkly ring. I of course said yes, told Jennifer to fuck off and mentally prepared myself for moving up north to live in the pissing rain. Then I had a change of heart......... until.............

Mandy tongued me. The deal was done. I was going to be Mr Foley-Smith.

As Adam was finishing off his second pizza, a young northern lad peered through the door looking somewhat confused. We proceeded to sing Leyton Orient songs at him, tell him that London was better than Manchester, and finally order him to stop getting so angry. We were being overly charming. The guy was a bit indifferent to us.

If you are reading this out there Mr Manchester, I hope you are well and that you find out your purpose in life. You really were a confused individual.

So the guy stumbled outwards muttering naughty words under his breath and left us to dance the night away in a takeaway shop run by people who clearly hated us. Ads finished off his third pizza and we all voted on one for the road in our hotel bar. The bar was staffed by the receptionist who kept running between the two with obvious disdain in his heart. We sank Smirnoff Ice, VK Blue and beer, only taking a breath to chat to some overly friendly Scottish guys who wanted to friend Kate on Facebook as if their life depended on it.

Then something creepy happened. It was as if someone up there had sent us a sign. The ironing board (as you can see in the photo above) turned angry. He was looking at us saying 'GET OUT OF MY BAR.' So we did. Kate gave out her email address to the weird looking Scottish bird and we staggered upstairs, trying to pick locks along the way, all the way to bed.

The night ended with an X Factor Omnibus and some video recording of things I can't quite remember. I think I may have thrown Adam's pants out the window, after that it went blurry. I hope he was gentle with me.

The trip back to London was eventful. During breakfast, in which I had deep fried battered prawns, my head felt like it was starting to explode. I was itchy and scared. I went outside for some fresh air to discover something was trying to escape from my head. I was coming up in hives all over the shop. I freaked out, we went to a pharmacy, they told me to go to a doctors, I didn't. We decided to drive back to London and risk it. Ten minutes later, the hives had gone. It was a miracle!........ Then Kate threw up all over the M6. Quite a lot. The next three hours were a blur. But the good news is, that we got home, watched X Factor and then went to bed.
Spare change guv'ner?

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