Top quality Scots coppers
Long-backstory-short, the year is 2008, the month is February, 12 English idiots have just achieved a near-death-hiking experience trying to get from Currour to Fort William in a day (you can just about do this in a day in early June starting at sunrise and finishing at sunset. Not so much when there are seven hours of daylight), whilst also confounded by (what the local mountain rescue boss described as) the worst snow in years.

After an unexpected night in a half-roofless bothy, much near-death-associated bonding, eventual amazing delight and relief on reaching Fort William only a day late, and radical drinking once we reach the hostel (which, pleasingly, has a bar with one of the largest Scotch collections I've ever seen), the weekend's nearly over. Some sensible people meander off to get daytime trains. But a sturdy hardcore of about seven of us take the Scotrail Sleeper back to London.

The Sleeper has some excellent features: most notably, a buffet car with proper lounge furniture and cafe-like tables (not bolted-to-floor train seats). This particular evening, the red-faced, slightly slurring steward was also handing out free whisky as compensation for the fact that his kitchen was broken and he couldn't serve any hot food - it's hard not to love Scotland. We didn't really need the free whisky, as we'd stocked up with two bottles of Scotch and two cases of beer, but the thought was appreciated.

The train meanders rather slowly from Fort William to Edinburgh, where it's joined up with other carriages from equally remote bits of Scotland and packed off to London as one big train. It leaves Fort Bill at about 6pm, and arrives in Edinburgh about midnight. By about 11.30, we had a problem: we'd drunk all the booze. So we bought some more miniatures from the steward. Problem solved.

However, on repeating this request at about 11.50, it was denied due to 'stocktaking', or possibly 'drunk English cnuts'. So we finished the assorted dregs, and retreated to our cabins.

Sleeper cabins have two bunk beds. I'm sharing with my friend James, who's a Respectable City Banker. Our unemployable posh alcoholic friend - think Withnail, but shorter - is in the next cabin. About 10 minutes later, Withnail knocks on the door. "We should get some more drinks." "Erm, we don't have any more drinks and the dude won't sell us any."

But I have a brilliant (read: moronic) idea at this point. The trains that join up at Edinburgh Waverley, where we've just stopped up, all have their own crews. So there'll be another dude with another trolley who doesn't know how much we've had and isn't going to be quite so reluctant to sell us booze. As the most desperate would-be consumer, Withnail is briefed on the plan and dispatched with 20 quid.

Five minutes later, Withnail returns. With four miniatures of Scotch, one miniature of Bacardi, and, erm, 20 quid. "Did you follow the plan?" "No - I found the drinks trolley and borrowed these. It's OK, the steward didn't see a thing. I'm going to lie low in my cabin for a bit but I'll be back in 10 minutes".

Brief reflection on possible reasons for 'lying low' leads us to suspect that "didn't see a thing" may be an exaggeration. This is confirmed by the frantic banging on our cabin door by the red-faced Scotsman, along the lines of "give them back, or I'll call the fucking polis", "sorry mate, what are you talking about, we've been here the whole time" (which was literally true). Eventually he appears to lose interest and goes away.

So Withnail returns with the miniatures. He's already cracked the Bacardi, so I finish it; we're about to start on the Scotches toasting the success of our nerve, when the light outside turns noticeably blue and flashing. Oh fuck, the steward *has* called the bloody rozzers (in 2008, the platforms at Waverley were driveable-onto by official vehicles). We despatch Withnail, on the grounds that "my cousin is a QC", "GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN!"; James and I resign ourselves to obsequious apologetics.

So two Edinburgh cops join the train - both late-30s early 40s, as experienced and cynical as anyone in a TV show or cheap novel.

They point out that they've every right and reason to investigate this case at the police station, that it's bailable rather than remand-able, but that they'll only bail us if we can find someone in Edinburgh to sign for us (I get on OK with my ex's parents, who live in Edinburgh, and have their number in my phone, so at least a night in the cells is off the cards - but that would definitely not be WINNING). We apologise repeatedly, offer to pay, obfuscate somewhat on the details (coppers MUST NOT TALK TO WITHNAIL), but make clear that we're very sorry and ashamed and it was a terrible misunderstanding.

The cops then disappear to talk to the steward. This goes on for about 20 minutes. They return to our cabin - "come outside, there's a conversation that needs had".

We follow the cops to the end of the carriage, where the angry-and-deflated looking steward is standing. "You boys have got something to give to him, haven't you?" - we hand over the Scotches. Steward adds "but there was a Bacardi as well!", "Yes, erm, sorry, we drank it". Cop to steward "Well, how much was it?". Steward: "erm, three pounds fifty". Cop: "Well, give the man his three pounds fifty, then!". Money is handed over.

Final word from the cops: "How old are you?". I reply, "28"; James replies, "28". There's a pause. They look meaningfully at the steward. He replies "47". The slightly-more-veteran looking cop says "well, maybe in future you could all ACT YOUR AGE rather than wasting our time with this kind of stupid nonsense". The cops leave. The steward leaves, with a face like thunder. We slink back to our cabin then burst out in insane, inane laughter.

I almost felt sorry for the steward for that one. Right up until he served me breakfast the next morning with a hole punched in the milk packet that entirely covered my bed and clothes in milk. Still, that's probably a fair revenge.

Withnail was amused by the story the next morning, didn't apologise, and subsequently stole our money.
(stalinism, Sat 7 May 2011, 15:58, 1 reply)

I rather not upset anyone who is supposed to prepare me food later. You know, "clean food please". :-)
(Robotnik, Mon 9 May 2011, 14:22, closed)