Fuck it. I'll start a new one.



A couple of years back I was in Liverpool with the missus. Got an unreal deal on flights and hotel for 5 nights. Coincided with the Manic Street Preachers playing there. First night, no gig so out on the lash - happy days.

Second day –Manics gig. My wife isn't into them so I went on my tod. I've seen them over 30 times so this is not an uncommon experience. We had a few drinks and dinner before she headed back to the hotel to relax. It was on in Mountford Hall, part of Liverpool University. I got to the venue and ambled inside, the place was filling up nicely. Tipped over to the bar. They had a few decent beers on. Ordered one.

"That's £1.10 please, my mate"

"What?"

"Student yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah" (I was about 30 at the time)

Sent my wife a text "Coming Home In A Bodybag" – then had to follow that text up to explain the joke because she had never seen the movie "True Romance".

Great gig. Ian McCulloch had guested on the MSP record that they were touring, he joined them onstage to sing the track "Some Kind Of Nothingness" and then did "The Killing Moon" with Bradfield.

I digress...

Gig done. Several cheap pints later I'm on my way down the hill from the venue and heading back to the hotel. End up getting side-tracked and going to a craft beer place, where I started chatting to a few American lads who are in town for a trip of a lifetime to Beatle-land. They're all dressed in that American tourist uniform - chinos with a band t-shirt tucked tightly into it and whiter-than-white sneakers. The t-shirts are obviously The Beatles in this case. All offset by a ridiculously expensive watch.

Of the 6 of them 3 or 4 are taking it fairly handy on the booze. I am in that not-so-sweet-spot of coming down off of skating past a hangover unscathed and now topping up from the night before. That dangerous spot where you've been boozing but it feels like it's having zero effect on you. I decide that I'm going to stop drinking for the evening, I've gotten away with it this far. And there's still three days to go. The lads mention that they're going to The Cavern for some late-night John Lennon thing. I'm a massive fan of The Beatles and Lennon in particular but this sounds like tourist shit to me. I go to Liverpool a few times a year, I know my way around - the craft beer place is a decent walk (not far but you could get lost) from The Cavern. End up strolling to the venue with them – my hotel is two or three streets away from it.

One of them, a middle-aged lad called Tony is DEMENTED. Definitely on a train to Blackout City. I ask him if he's alright.

He replies in that usual super-polite American accent "I sure am, buddy".

He sure isn't.

"Lads, would you not call it quits?" I ask "There's more Beatles stuff tomorrow."

No dice. They insist on buying me a drink. I refuse but then curiosity gets the better of me and I want to see this John Lennon thing.

Down into The Cavern. Much like John Lennon, it's dead. So dead that the guy with the Hummingbird acoustic onstage says hello to us as we walk in. And then "Just warming up this set. Any requests? John solo or with the Fab Four?"

"Blackbird" says American Tony.

"That's more a Paul track, mate".

"BLACKBIRD!" roars American Tony and then chucks a perfect horizontal stream of puke across the bar. It lands with an impressive splash about 5 feet away after hanging mid-air for 10 seconds like Wile E. Coyote in the Roadrunner cartoons.

"Jeeee-susss!" roars one of the other Yanks, about 60 years old. And decides to take a swing at Tony who know looks like a kitten in a Korean restaurant kitchen. The punch barely lands. I get in between them.

"For fuck sake, grow up" says I.

Your man then decides to take a swing at me for good measure. I have sobered up sufficiently to see this coming, defend myself and forcefully shove a thin, balding sexagenarian out of my way. Unfortunately I shove him out of my way and into the puddle of sick on the ground which he skids in and has to balance himself against a high top table.

He looks like he wants another shot at me. I don't like shit like this but I know how to take care of myself so I brace for another go. That's when I feel an arm come from behind and grab me across my chest.

"Not him!" shouts John Lennon. "Them!"

I am released and the mystery arm reveals itself to belong to a rather large chap in a bomber jacket. Clearly a bouncer. And one who really enjoys his job. Unfortunately "them" is not specific and he grabs the first Beatlemaniac that he sees – one who was trying to calm things down. This is obviously a sign to exit and go back to my hotel. I dunno if any of you have been to The Cavern but it's down a set of stairs. I bound up said stairs and get out onto Matthew St. where a dazed tourist is working out what happened while Bomber Jacket was going back down for seconds. I can hear a lot of  shouting downstairs and Liverpudlian accent saying "Come 'head, I'll fuuuuuccccchhhhhin do yeh!".

My legs have decided that my brain is no longer in charge of keeping us safe and we get the fuck out of there. Back to the hotel and my missus is still awake.

"How was the gig?" she asks.

"Ah brilliant" says I, taking off my boots.

"You'll always say the Manics are brilliant. I meant the John Lennon thing"

"Huh?"

"You texted me to say you might go to a John Lennon thing"

"Couldn't be bothered in the end".

Next morning I wake up and, again, I'm not too bad. I grab a shower and find myself laughing out loud when I think about American Tony and the rest of the lads.

We decide to grab breakfast. Strolling through the lobby, I'm looking at the Beatles-themed stuff on the walls. I hear my better-half say "Someone had a good night. Look at the state of him".

I look to see a dishevelled man in a "Revolver" t-shirt and stained chinos sitting on one of the lovely Chesterfield couches in the lobby nursing a coffee. He puts his hand up and starts to wave sadly as I get nearer the door.

"Is he waving at you? Do you know him?"

"Him?! He's probably steamed to the gills still"

"I think he said your name while he was waving at us"

"Nah".




I wish we could access the thread on MI. The two times I slept rough in Barcelona have sorta melded into one and as time passes the details are becoming foggier.

Great to see this thread kick off!

And what a kick off it is! Fucking hell :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:

Setting the bar high with the opener there  :laugh: unreal carry on.

 :laugh: :laugh: jesus! I lived in Liverpool for about a year, in Bootle, fuckin rough out. One night out walking the dog some scummer started chatting to me and offered me 3 rocks of crack for the dog. Sorry no dice ;D

#9 April 25, 2020, 10:04:40 AM Last Edit: April 25, 2020, 10:06:17 AM by Ollkiller
One from a few weeks ago. Mate had a house warming. Got there around 8 o'clock. Parked the car a few door down and left some hang sandwiches and a sleeping bag and pillow in the car in case I needed to pass out.

Launched in to the gargle and the jazz woodbines. Great ould crack in the gaff. Was all going well until I blacked out around half 2. Next thing I remember is coming back into the gaff at half 6 in the morning and 2 lads still up so launched into it again. About half 8 I noticed I couldn't find my keys or phone or wallet. Went out to the car and the back door was wide open, hang sandwiches all over the place and pillow out where I had a lie down. Lovely bit of puke in the foot well to boot. Wallet keys and phone in the back seat thankfully. Went back I got he gaff not knowing what happened and fell week at 10. Woke up at 2 and drove home even though I was fucked. Crawled onto the couch and woke at half 6 and it all came back to me.

Had gone to the car, made an attempt at the hang sandwiches and feel asleep and can remember puke gurgling out of me onto the foot well. When I woke around half 6 I went up to the door of what I thought was my mates gaff but his gaff was a few doors down. Some buck in a sleeping robe is roaring laughing at me going "this isn't your fucking gaff mate". The fear i had for 2 days afterwards was unfathomable. Good times.


Quote from: Emphyrio on April 24, 2020, 04:05:54 PM
I wish we could access the thread on MI. The two times I slept rough in Barcelona have sorta melded into one and as time passes the details are becoming foggier.

Jesus I wish i even copied the text of those stories. Absolute gold they were  :abbath:......I'll have a few more myself. I'll try to remember them properly before posting them up.

I'm still chuckling at StoutandAles story after reading it last night.  :laugh:

Quote from: Emphyrio on April 24, 2020, 04:05:54 PM
I wish we could access the thread on MI. The two times I slept rough in Barcelona have sorta melded into one and as time passes the details are becoming foggier.

I've often thought the same thing myself - there would be times you'd be dying in work and feeling like you're a failure at life - then you'd take a look at that thread and you'd feel an awful lot better about yourself. It served many purposes that's for sure  :laugh:

That dude 'Pirate Sid' had a couple of absolute corkers in that thread, highly vivid. Even his description of his bowel movements were hellish.

I don't know anything about code and the like, but if someone is in the know, is resurrection possible for some of those threads? The reviews as well. If I had to speculate, I'd say CT just pressed the big red button one night after a few nippy sweeties, having been considering it for some time beforehand.