More Binge Than Bender

Another challenge has been dusted off, as me, Crespo and Shouty met up with Sproket and Plus 1, to take on the Westgate Run in Wakefield. Top buffoon points go to the Wakey lads, who showed up in matching shirts, but they called us out for sporting our 1860 bands, but it still wasn't as gay as wearing the exact same shirt. We stuffed a swift one down us in Saltaire, before hooking up at The Redoubt, starting point for the binge ahead. It was a nice traditional boozer, the pics on the wall showing the pub football teams from the mid seventies were priceless. The next few pubs along the run were old pubs that had the character dragged out of them to be replaced by the bland "modern" look. In the third one, some jolly old geezer started smiling and winking at me, which I tried to to ignore, before he came up and started rambling on about how he hadn't seen me for ages. "I've never seen you, ya daft old fart" I said to him. "I am over from Bradford", to which he laughed and told me I looked like some other handsome devil, and then asked if I was a Leeds fan! Knobhead. By the sixth pub out of nine, we were getting lairy, Shouty did something with his wristband that I can't remember, but it was apparently hilarious according to Sprocket (aka KC, but christened Sprocket due to his resemblance to Ronnie "Rocket" O'Sullivan. Plus 1 got his name because he is called Dave). By the time we made it into Boon's there was no pain being felt, and in the Elephant and Castle (my favourite of the nine) we were joined by a geezer wearing a tie, whose name totally eludes me. It upset Crespo a bit though, because he was younger than him. The last two pubs were seen off in double time, as Shouty announced he reckoned he could make it back to the Redoubt, having a pint in each one on the way. We all called him an idiot, 18 pints indeed, but we could see he was serious, so the geezer in the tie took us to a pub that was like a cave. A big white one that served beer. Me and KC snuck off for a meatball sub, and the scoundrel nicked one of my cookies. Twat. It was off then to one last boozer before it was time for the last train. After we left, Sprocket made a break for a cab back to Castleford, and plus 1 and the geezer wearing a tie, headed for the "Mexican Quarter" of Wakefield, so called because it has a night club called Havanna's, which is named after a city in Cuba ( I don't think Geography is taught in this part of the world.) The train home was a bit of a chore, as we had to put up with Mr "I'am not going to any nightclubs" Shouty, beg me and Crespo to go to the PM bar. For forty minutes he pleaded, but we were done, and as I arranged for a cab and Crespo got a pizza, the Right Honourable sulked off to the PM bar on his own, having two more pints before retiring. I dropped the boy Crespo off at home, and decided to have a fish finger butty before going to bed. I only found out today, 48 hours later, that said sandwich was found regurgitated in the back garden by a seriously unamused Elster, who also found a pile of half price tickets to a place called Wildcats, a "gentleman's" club on the kitchen table. I have know idea how they came to be in my possession. The whole night cheered me up no end, and me and Sprocket have decided to make it an annual event. Wakefield gets a definite thumbs up.