Wednesday saw us do something we’d rather not admit. We went to Southampton. Now, in most cases the aim of being in Southampton is to get out as quick as possible, it’s the best thing to do really. But this time it really did have a purpose… we’d gone to collect Al who usually lives down in Falmouth (this is going to confuse things a bit as we actually know two Al’s, both of whom live in Falmouth. Don’t ask how or why, it just happens like that).
Arriving in the glorious masterpiece that is the multi-storey car park of West Quay Shopping Centre (Gunwharf is so much nicer…) we set about searching for Al who was apparently in Costa Coffee, near Waterstones. Was it not for the fact it seemed there were 2 Waterstones and an abundance of Costa Coffee branches about the place, it might have taken less than half an hour to find him, but ah well, at the end of it all we piled into Yates’ for a beverage and some lunch. Well, it took a little longer than expected since it took an hour to get food - but on the plus side, we had changed the order just after making it, and as some kind of bonus the very friendly Waitress gave us what we ordered, and a chicken and bacon baguette. Rock on.
Once done, the next aim was rather simple. Get the hell out of Southampton, get home, shower to de-toxify ourselves, and get down the pub. The first public house of choice being the Spice Island where Al and Rich both indulged in Real Ale, whilst Jim who was suffering from a rather immense cold/flu sat in the corner slowly drinking a lager.
Spice Island was evacuated in favour of the Still and West where Rich could puff away on some cancer sticks, and Mr Gubbsy Gubbins joined us for a pint before he was going out to a night at the theatre avec his lady. By this point it was getting a little dark and we moved to Osborne 
Road and the Owtback bar for a game or two of pool. It’s also interesting to note we actually looked at the rules - and intentionally jumping over a ball is a foul - take note Mr Mark Holley - we’ve got your number, and it’s not 118 118.
Next stop was a trip to HKC’s Vodka Bar… before kicking ourselves for never going there before… Vodka - in every confectionary flavour you can think of… Milky Bar… Wine Gum… Skittles… Pear Drop… Rhubarb and Custard. Owing to Rich and Al’s obsession with the barmaid (Jim staying out the way to avoid coughing all over her), we ended up in there for several rounds - including meeting the Chinese (?) owner of the place, who when we asked how he made the drinks answered ‘Sorry, me no speak English’ - the blatant cheek!
We toddled back towards Old Portsmouth after this to the Duke Of Buckingham to go meet Penny for a couple of beverages since she hadn’t seen Al for coming on 2 years and so there was a bit of catching up to be done. After a few more games of Pool, Al and Rich were in the mood for dancing and as we called a Taxi, and intended on heading home then onto the ‘Ulster’ Union to do some dancin.
Taxi Man was a bit of a legend that evening, and when we got near the LowerFlat and it’s one-way street, he decided to save us a bit of money by reversing up it - probably for the best since there was a car parked blocking the street so we wouldn’t have been able to do it going forward anyway. The only problem was this car wasn’t another taxi. Because Taxi’s don’t have large numbers of lights on the roof, or the word ‘POLICE’ on the bonnet. Taxi Man was a little alarmed: “Oh Shit, it’s the Old Bill!”. Before you could say ‘Hello Hello Hello’ and offer a beating with a truncheon down ‘Letsbe Avenue’, money was swiftly deposited into Taxi Man’s lap as we all dived out and back into the house with our newly adopted favourite Cabbie speeding off.
Alas after some phone research, the Union was heaving, so Al and Rich decided to give it a miss, instead opting for the Bolognese which had been cooked by Jim earlier. We would have had a beer with it - but some bugger has nobbled the corkscrew. It’s just not cricket… after which, there was nothing left to do, but go to bed and wait for the hangovers to kick in.
