I GOT accidentally drunk on Friday. We’ve all been there. After a couple at AFQ we were going to an event at Bluecoat Chambers for their 300th birthday. That’s quite impressive, isn’t it? A building knocking about in town that’s older than The United States of America.
It’s needed a bit of restoration over the years, like. Not least after it got bombed to bits during World War Two. But it’s still going strong and still putting great cultural events on after 300 years. So me and my wife celebrated by drinking 300 glasses of wine.
Well, maybe not that many. But we kept meaning to go and get something to eat and then ended up with drinks instead. Eventually we made it to American Pizza Slice at midnight, where we drank more wine. Then we went to The Grapes. Dear, oh dear.
So Saturday morning was a little blurry but all good. Ben volunteered to do the South End picks ups so the North Enders could just grab us from by the motorway and be on our way. He’s good like that. Although he wasn’t happy about me eating a bacon butty in his car. Not sure if it was the crumbs or the fact he didn’t have one he objected to more.
Hull is about two-and-a-half hours away, which given some of the recent trips is practically a home game. We stop in Goole on the way to watch the early kick-off. One of the lads we know from the game has a missus who runs a pub there.
It transpires it’s not just us he has invited. Three buses from Liverpool and our little van have descended on this pub in the middle of nowhere that, presumably compared to a normal 1pm on a Saturday, is doing very good trade indeed. They are looking after us, though. While I was out the night before drinking a vineyard, they were up till 2am making butties and they’ve filled a pool table.
Despite the pub being slightly over capacity we find somewhere to watch the game and get to the bar handily enough. It’s nice to see Joe Connolly, Jon Cook and Nico propping it up next to us. Joel Richards is bouncing about too. Plus a lad who introduces himself to me by saying “you do the internet, don’t you?” Well not all of it, mate.
At some point there is some commotion. There are some young lads outside playing football and one of them has made a kid cry. He comes back in and tells his dad the lads have put him in the bin. Which shouldn’t be funny but sort of was a bit. His dad asks what he was doing and he said “just throwing stones at them and I pulled his hair.”
I know what you are thinking. That you sort of want to put him in the bin yourself. It might have been raised by others. But then his dad said “look you can’t just go around putting seven-year-old kids in bins” and it’s pretty hard to argue with a sentence like that, isn’t it? You really can’t.
So the grown ups bounce outside to sort the young lads out. Not in a nasty way. Just in a “don’t put my son in a bin” way. The lads were apparently alright and apologised and agreed to give him a few quid to cheer the kid up. He also says he’ll go in and apologise. So the lad gets on his knees to the kids level and says sorry. And what does the kid do? Punches him! Twice! Unreal.
It sort of sorted it all out though, and everyone ended up laughing about it. So maybe more of the world’s problems could be resolved by kids throwing digs. Who knows. He had a decent right hook though, I’m telling you.
Having seen quite enough of Chelsea winning the league we make a move. The drive to Hull is fairly uneventful and the parking illegal but, unlike Liverpool’s defensive mistakes, ultimately unpunished.
Hull’s stadium is fine, really. It’s surrounded by nice grass and they have a brass band playing outside. They share the pitch with the rugby lads, though, so it’s got those annoying lines across it. Maybe they put us off. Still, Simon Mignolet should watch a few of them catching a high ball for tips.
Hull are rubbish, really. At least Swansea had something about them. They look as startled to be winning as anyone else. I’m convinced that we just need to be good for a short period. That one will lead to victory. But we let bloody Oumar Niasse score instead.
The atmosphere was actually pretty good. The fans were trying their best, but this team just can’t be lifted at the moment. Not even by the returning stars, who were meant to sort everything out. It’s thoroughly depressing.
We get back to the van and I don’t know what to do so I go to sleep. I get off for about half an hour, I think. By the time I wake up everyone has cheered up a bit and stopped talking about football. We actually have a pretty good night in the end. After a sing song in the car to DJ Heaton we hit Pogues and Newington. Then we go back to Josh’s to watch music videos on his massive TV.
Fun can be plucked from the jaws of defeat if your mates are good enough. Bloody hell we’re having to try hard to prove it at the moment, though. This was much easier in October, I’m telling you.