The Edinburgh weekend…
Edinburgh
So we headed off to Edinburgh at ungodly o’clock, the day started at 4am with me knocking on Gib’s and walking to Justin’s to get a taxi to the airport. So far no problems to note, except when we get to check in and my boarding pass flashes a fear inducing red on the checkpoint screen. So I have to go back and manually check in like a common pauper. I queue up and realize that I am starting to slip behind schedule so I manage to slip into the express check in and get a new boarding pass. A quick folly through security and I am in!
Now the new challenge lies ahead; take-off. I have recently discovered a deep set fear of taking off in an airplane. Don’t ask me why or what but just accept it as my irrational fear, funny thing is once we are in the air and even during landing I am happy as a bunny with all the carrots. Now I happen to hang out with a group of guys, who when they smell fear, will try and amplify it somewhat.
Verbatim;
Jamie: “I hate being this nervous”
James: “You know they call it a terminal for a reason”
Justin: “You won’t die”
Jamie: “Cheers”
Justin: “Just be crippled for life”
Mike: “Does the brace position kill you?”
James made up for it on the flight out there by sitting next to a seriously hot girl – the man is a magnet, he just heads towards woman like fat kids to cake.
The take off goes without a hitch and we are airborne, I feel more relaxed and start to read my NUTS magazine – boobs and jokes, the cornerstone of any male literature. Upon landing I must admit it got a little bumpy but it was fine, nothing to worry about. Well that is unless you are the woman next to me who happens to fill her sick bag up to the brim, god forbid what she would be like during vigorous exercise, I pity her boyfriend.
We get off the plane and grab ourselves a taxi to the town centre where we have a spot of breakfast and start to explore the town.
Edinburgh is a great city; I implore everyone I know to go there at least once even just for the architecture and the sheer gorgeousness of its setting. That alone is worth the journey regardless of how cool the nightlife is. We walk around and check out Princes Street and the main shopping areas. Everywhere you turn there are castles, monuments, churches, Edwardian looking buildings. Imagine a smaller, prettier version of London and you are not even close. I would actually contemplate moving there if it wasn’t full of Scottish people, that is a joke and if you don’t like F- You, but anyways – I would consider it.
After much walking around including a quick foray up to the castle, which was in the right place to defend the city but unfortunately the wrong place for a tourist hotspot, how many fat Americans really want to climb a hill like that. We of course hailing from good olde’ England we didn’t bother with paying to see a castle and promptly left. We invented castles, hell I was born in a castle. Once you have seen one you have seen them all.
Topman on the other hand is a Pandora’s Box of surprises and fashion statements. Gib and I made a bee line for the men’s section while the rest of the boys questioned our testicular fortitude. We didn’t care, we may look gay, but chicks love gay and having chicks love you is cool – Vis a vee we are cool, so get your hands back in my pants Justin.
Finally 2pm rolled around and we headed to the hotel to check inn. Me and my pet Justin checked in first and headed up to our room to which we were pleasantly surprised, no cockroaches, no dead rats, and no crack whore – (shame). I headed up to Gib’s to check on his so called “Deluxe Suite”. After about 20minute walk/hike I found his room and proceeded to shoot the shit about the evening’s plans. Then I was given a great piece of information; 70 strong hen party staying in the hotel. Who doesn’t love hen parties?!
After another 5 minutes of conversation in which I tried and failed to set a 5am wake up call on Gib’s phone (he caught me) I decided to christen his freshly cleaned toilet, much to his dismay. Only way to describe it was; eye watering stench/unbelievable scenes. I vacated his room pretty soon. He would get me back though as if Karma is his secret weapon.
“Shit’s Mcgrew”: What number are James and Mike in?
Gib: 402
Me: Cool
Obviously those of you with 2 brain cells will know they were not in room 402. This made for an awkward moment when the door was opened by neither James nor Mike. I was already proceeding to tell them about what I left in Gib’s room. A quick apology to the elderly gent and I finally found the right room. Cheers Gib, I suppose what goes around comes around.
The tom foolery was not over yet, I had a wake up call to set. Nonchalantly walking over to phone and saying I wanted to see if I could get reception as ours wasn’t working. Those of you who know me really well know;
1) I cannot keep a straight face when I am doing something mischievous.
2) I cannot do nonchalant
But for my obvious shortcomings they bought it and the trap was set, evil genius is an evident career path. I headed back to my room and fell asleep listening to As God and Everest by Pop Unknown, check it out it’s a great song. I awoke to soccer Saturday and the news Bolton had just won against Spurs, along with the dream I had about Megan Fox and the penguin waiter called bingo, this was a great start to the evening. We got dressed and headed out for a spot of dinner. We found a bar which bared a likeness to a Wetherspoons so decided to play safe and grab a burger and watch the footy. Game was dire, but a win is a win for The Mighty Red Devils.
After a couple of beers and chat we headed back to the hotel to get shirted up and try Edinburgh on for size. I of course was late, a mixture of my usual vanity and my addiction to the power shower which Justin described “…could smooth the dimples of a golf ball…” It felt like being born into a hailstorm, a sexy, warm, bollock-bruising hailstorm. With my dress in check we headed down to the foyer and marched into town and into our first bar. The rule of a night out is simple the first bar must be easy, cheap and a general good atmosphere to kick start the night’s proceedings. This bar was not it, not only were we the first under 35’s in their, we were the only under 35’s in there. A quick pint in which the following was observed;
1) The men were so badly dressed, it appeared like they were in an eastern block country which got its fashion sense from whatever the foreign aid guys bought over with their inoculations. James pointed out that one guy must have borrowed his dad’s shirt and best shoes. We literally saw a guy whose shirt came down to his knees.
2) The woman had seen to many winters, simply put they were old. Some maybe were “10 pinters”. Work out for yourself what that little moniker means.
3) The ones, who were younger than the castle, were generally products of lackadaisical approaches to saturated fats based diets. One girl had genuine can-kles, a scary sight up close let alone as she climbs the stair adjacent to where you’re sitting.
4) We were getting funny looks, maybe us pointing to peoples spouses and giggling wasn’t a smart plan.
Onwards we marched towards the Espionage, the club/bar where we thankfully remained until the end of the night. Compared to the previous bar this place was a playboy mansion of young, drunk ladies. The fact hammered home when we walk into the first downstairs bar and are greeted by a healthy ratio of 6 to 1. Espionage has a multi room lay out and we must have visited each one about 8 times. It was a great club with good music and 2 dance floors, Gib and I made light work of the girls on their local pub crawls. My first time “chatting up” some birds goes great until a local dwarf (see short man) with the dress sense of a blind special needs kid, and a keg for a liver tries to seduce the ladies. It was all in good spirit’s which ended in him and his mates leaving and the better man victorious. Or in the other version the man who can talk and out wit his dumb opponent and crack a joke. Either way he left pretty soonish and then Gib and I rejoined the gang.
We headed into the other rooms and partied, highlights included having to order a pineapple and cranberry along with an archers and lemonade. Did I look gay? You decide, bear in mind I was wearing a silk dress scarf with a light blue tight v-neck jumper, thought as much. Talking to and entertaining the local ladies with some easy drinking games, Justin slowly slipping into drunk Southey mode and James and Mike providing much needed banter. Personal highlight was saving a hot blonde from the outrageous dancing of some random dude who looked like he was convulsing on her, I smoothly offered my outstretched hand to which she gratefully accepted and grinded with me, his face was a picture of confusion and wonder. Maybe I am over doing it but it felt great.
Gib, Mike and James disappeared, Justin and I were accosted by 2 rather strange Canadian girls who we walked through Edinburgh City centre with. We managed to find our way back to the hotel and crashed out at 3am.
We awoke, showered and headed for a day in the pub with football and lots of chat including the infamous Glen Johnson toilet seat story. The annoyance at my wake up call which involved neither Mike nor James picking up the phone until James snapped and throws a shoe at it. I cherish that thought more than any other I think. Watching the SPL is always fun and worthy of some serious criticism. The Liverpool Chelsea game had many talking points including Gib confessing how much he hates Liverpool; literally it isn’t healthy to have that much hate. We then cruised back to the Airport where we sat around and compared boobs…..from our copies of Front and Nuts.
Then everything went tits up;
The road trip
Ok, I have been back about a good 30minutes from the EPIC trip to Edinburgh. Some of you may have realized that I and my party of five are back about 18hours or so late. Well since the clouds decided to whitey all over the south of England our return flight to Gatwick got cancelled and kind of put our plans of a lazy flight back to The Grinstead in serious jeopardy.
Firstly after the debacle of my security stop in which I forgot to remove my phone, keys and STEEL toecap boots, to which I was, manhandled by a descendant of William Wallace with a sarcastic streak. We headed into the departure lounge and were quickly greeted by our first delay of 20minutes making it a 21.50 departure. Shortly after me and Gib played Gladiators on the giant conveyor belt, and grabbed a beer at the bar, our second delay was announced; 23.00. Typical, so onwards with another beer and just as Mike got a fresh pint of Tennants it was announced the flight was cancelled and to make our way to the Easyjet desk. Watching Mike shotgun his pint and try to get down an escalator was one of life’s great moments. Walking through security with a bottle of Sammy Miggs was surprisingly lax; well that’s Scotland for you.
When we got to the line it was clear that our plane was not going to be available anytime soon and the thought of forking out another night in a hotel was not what everyone wanted. The trains were overpriced and had to go through London – which was pretty much snowed under so they were out. I can’t remember who suggested renting a car, but I am sure it was in jest. After queuing for about 20minutes and not actually moving forward we took the idea a little further.
Or rather James “spontaneous is my middle name bitch” Springham decided to take it further, and proceeded to start negotiations with the HERTZ rental clerk, whom on asking James 3 times to spell “Gatwick”, then getting him to write it down he decided to choose another company without a staff EU quota policy or as he put it; “an absolute joke”. We think she was either of Eastern European origin or just plain retarded. Who knows? With the chances of getting on a flight quickly diminishing or even getting a car at this time we started to put our efforts into getting a car and driving the 500+ miles back to Gatwick.
James continued to investigate and set about making this glorious idea happen. I decided to go offer my support and expertise to the situation. (I can name more than 3 makes of car; have had 2 beers and have rented a movie, so I am therefore overqualified on these matters)
(Note to self; if you have been in Edinburgh drinking for the weekend and your plane gets cancelled and you decide to drink more in the futile hope that a ride home will magically appear from the bottom of a beer bottle. DON’T walk over to the stuffy middle aged lady who has the keys to a shiny ride home, a serious contempt for shift work and prerequisite to judge with a San Miguel bottle in your hand, a tramps hat and a 26 day shadow.)
Also Gib – not great to start chatting about where and how we were going to party/trash the vehicle INFRONT of said middle aged stressed, judgmental clerk, we either came across as normal guys in a tight spot or pissed up Brits who cant be arsed to steal and joyride a car.
But after some straight talking from James and some buttering up from me we were handed the keys to a shiny……………………………………………………… ……
………………………………….Vauxhall Meriva. (Cue audience excitement noise)
Not necessary a bad car, yet not necessarily a great car. We quickly found it in the parking lot and set about climbing aboard our newly crowned shag-on wagon.
Upsides to the Meriva;
1) It had wheels
2) A full tank of petrol
3) It had tinted windows – why this is an upside is beyond me, but I have just walked 6 miles through snow and am just regaining the feeling in my pinky toes so F – You.
4) It had a somewhat ironic 2 sunroofs.
Downsides;
1) It was grey
2) It was slow
3) It was a Vauxhall
4) It was a piece of shit – according to James.
5) It was designed to have 7 year olds in the back, mental age aside it was a little cramped for our adult frames
But none of these points actually mattered as it was a ride and a decent ride at that. Sitting in between Gib and Justin was as always a pleasure, especially when you’re in the freaking child’s / death seat, and they snore like asthmatic wilder beast. The plus side was it had more leg room than an Easyjet flight we were due to board, and a prettier pilot. (Thank me later James) Also with the fact we don’t have to defy the laws of gravity in order to travel, I was supremely confident in not dying. The guys still vehemently tease me about my fear of flying and I still cry at take off. Doesn’t help as we go to board and James turns to me and informs me it is called “a terminal” for a reason (Douche).
So with Mike “Goose” navigating and I Maverick – (who else?!) talking pretty much the bullshit we had all become accustomed too, we got under way.
Basically not much happened along the way except;
1) We stopped within half an hour for supplies, which included Galaxy bar, Kit Kat Chunky, Doritos, 2x Red Bull, Relentless (see: Cocaine in a can). These items were pretty much gone after 10minutes.
2) It snowed, then stopped for 100miles then started again.
3) James stopping at the next service station to go for a pee, Justin and me thinking it would be funny to drive off with the car and take it for spin, leaving James to his devices with the garage staff that could have been extra’s in Deliverance.
4) Me hot-boxing the car and finding it HILARIOUS. I really am immature, hmmm.
5) Mike doing running laps at the third rest stop, in minus 4 degrees. Cue questions checking his mental aptitude.
6) Playing “would you rather…?” and finding out that none of us would take anal rapage for one another.
7) Sleeping.
8) Discussing the finer sides to the fetishes we would never do…..or what we would do (graphically) if we never had to see the person afterwards. Ever.
9) Super Bowl on five live.
10) Attempting to buy a CD from Pishan Ghoman. No he is not a singer; he is the guy who served me in the 24hr WHSmiths. Why do I know his name? Because he was simply the dumbest fucktard I have ever met, or at least in the top 3. After around 11 minutes of searching for a DVD he asked me whether the CD he was actually holding was actually a CD or a DVD. Cue my look of astonishment and wonder at his inability to make the distinction. I almost looked around for Jeremy Beadle, but then I remembered he was dead. He then searched for a CD; probably not the one I wanted for another good 7 minutes before closing the draw and telling me “can’t find it”. His tone done it, it was the tone of someone who cannot be bothered to use cutlery and thinks that a shower a week is acceptable hygiene. The tone of someone who wishes the sweet release of death after every shift. “Ghoman” he certainly wasn’t, he had all the get up and go of a coma patient. More of a doughy slow man who needs to wake up and smell the anthrax, douche bag.
Then after 8+ hours on the road with James “The Machine” Springham driving, we came towards the make shift Arctic Circle called the M25 and came to dead stop for 3Hours. Some bloke forgot that snow and ice generally make driving a little more hazardous and decided to jackknife his lorry, well done Einstein, that’s why you haul cargo for a living.
Well Mike, Justin and I were not having this and decided to go for a wander along the M25 for app. 6miles in the cold and snow. Gib being the lazier or smarter of our quintet, decided to stay in the warm with his copy of Front and a glazed expression on his face. Seeing as the next service station was 19 miles away, we had it all to do. Along the way we were getting strange looks and compliments from strangers in there warm, safe and boring auto mobiles. We even stopped to help some Albanian gangster in his huge Mercedes, who was just wheel spinning everywhere. Talking to truckers like we are common folk just like them, and sharing a joke. Or asking cute blondes whether we can jump into her mini……………………………..cooper. She politely declined -funny people out there huh? We walked, we battled against the snow, and we generally were very bored and wanted to see whether we could actually make it to the service station without doing a mischief.
Then just as we started to make good ground and feel that impossible is nothing (shameless I know) we encounter the traffic officer. A strange creature, neither humble nor needed who will patrol the hard shoulder on a jammed motorway telling people they are crazy for walking on the hard shoulder of the dead motorway. Crazy we may have been, but it wasn’t exactly dangerous as I have swallowed food quicker than the traffic was moving. But alas us good natured individuals turned back and walked the 6 miles back…….along the hard shoulder – who wins now bitch?!
We finally found James on the inside lane and bundled into the back of the godlike Meriva and its glorious heaters.
And an hour later and we were home.
Beats flying any day!
