You are feeling sleepy...
Let's set the scene quickly: I spent my formative years in Lancashire and was very pally with Gogs, the landlord of my local pub.

About a year after moving down to London (job) he and some of his mates used the bike show at Earls Court as an excuse for a piss-up and to catch up with me.

We drank a lot. In no particular order: 6 pints of 'watery southern pishy beer', wine, whisky, port, rum, gin and fuck knows what else. A very good night was had by all.

Then off to Euston where Gogs and his mates would get the last train oop norf and I'd hop on the Tube.

Result: I was woken up by a cleaning lady at Cockfosters, a fucking long way from home (Kilburn). Gogs and his mates slept until they were chucked off their train at Barrow in Furness. They wanted Preston.

Using some weird homing ability I walked straight home. Gogs woke his wife at 2 in the morning to come and get them, around 90 minutes each way.

The moral: (a)don't mix your drinks; (b) southern beer is not quite as weak and pishy as you might imagine.

Length: an 11 mile walk... but no hangover next day!
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 29 May 2008, 19:04, Reply)