Monica told me that they were due to arrive around 3pm. Really? That just happens to be the exact time that Latics kick-off against Stockport in the eagerly (well for me) awaited local derby at Boundary Park. No chance of talking her round so we caught the 3:45pm train to Piccadilly. I was gutted!
We arrived shortly after 4pm and there was no news from the London mob. No reply to the voicemail or text to both Sue’s and Carlos’s phones. I began to suspect a conspiracy as we sat down for a coffee at some over-priced Starbucks clone place. We decided to head into town for some “shopping” (definitely been set-up here) when Gary rang and saved the day. They had arrived just after lunch and went for a few drinks. The others fancied having a siesta before going out later. Apparently we weren’t expected until after 7pm!
We met Gary and headed to the Waldorf to watch the FA cup clash between Man Utd and Spurs. Typically, we had missed the best bit of the match and had to watch wave after wave of united attacks before they predictably equalised and took the lead in the space of two minutes, much to the dismay of Sue’s brother, Rob, a Spurs fan who turned up at that point.
After the game we headed back to the hotel to collect the other two. They were awake and smoking their heads off in between supping vodka and red bull. They looked well on the way before we had reached the bar downstairs for a quick one. The plan was then to head down Canal street for a couple. “Isn’t that the place Papá said to avoid?” asked Monica. It sure was.
Sue, Monica and Carlos at the Hotel Bar.
The girls in the mood to party.
I’m sure most people who had never been down Canal street have this wild idea of the village people clones roaming around, flashing pink neon signs and “Carry on” style innuendo banter all around. Well, the proof is in the pudding, as I never told Monica that it was the Gay Village as we entered the first bar, “Crunch 2”. She didn’t have a clue. The atmosphere was relaxed and mixed. Everyone was out to have a good time.
Carlos, Monica, Sue and gary on Canal Street.
After a few drinks by the canal we went in search of the Indie club that Gary had been to before. It was the “Fab Café” on Portland Street. On entry I was immediately transported back to my student days. The club pays homage to a number of science fiction programs most notably Doctor Who, with the Tardis and a Cyborg watching over the DJ. The DJ looked as if he was playing his favourite tunes in his bedroom, oblivious to the crowd on the dance floor and in the bar. Great music!
In the Fab Café.
Carlos strutting his stuff on the dance floor.
By the end of the night most of the London crew were completely wasted. We headed back towards the hotel in search of food when disaster struck. Carlos went flying head first into a rubbish bin. A deep cut on his chin, blood everywhere. Luckily, he hadn’t knocked any teeth out and the Alcohol had dimmed any pain. We forgot about the food and headed back to the hotel to patch him up.
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