Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting



Went into Manchester to watch the Froch Vs Groves super-middleweight championship bout on Saturday. Or, at least, I tried. Had to make a U-turn at one point to delete a Pornalikes post on this blog after a girl I’d included found out about it. I nearly had a fucking cardiac.

Anyway, I eventually got to town, to a joint near Piccadilly Gardens. Busy pub/bar. Mate told me I’d missed a few nights out and he hadn’t told me because I thought I was out with other mates! For fuck’s sake. I said I wasn’t- the rest of my mates are in similar positions, all settling down and not going out any more. I told him I don’t ask him what’s going on with nights out because I thought the whole group stayed in with their fiancés and kids these days. Fucking hell.

We then marched on to The Printworks and into Beirkeller, a German Steinhaus-styled pub. It was crap. The pub was rammed, the Sky reception kept freezing so we couldn’t see what was going on during the undercard match, and in the gents room the toilet roll dispenser was broke. There were huge queues for the cubicles, too. To my relief we eventually flitted over the road to Norwegian Blue, a bar which- as far as I’m aware- is the only establishment to be named after a Monty Python sketch.

Got talking to a fit dark-haired girl whilst watching Froch / Groves. Got her number after her friend collared me just as I was about to bottle it and walk out.

Was in a big group at the start of the night. Ended up in a taxi with only 1 other mate, which made the fare fucking expensive. And I HATE spending money. Mates wouldn’t get on the night bus. Proud bastards. Hardly bought any drinks: just bought soft and added my own 70% Dominican rum into it. Animal.

Still texting Norwegian Blue Girl. Glad I’m approaching and not bottling on nights out. It’s a start.

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