One Night At McChuills

The Plan: Arrive home from work, change into some casual clothes, grab a pint in the local, West, with my flatmate and his friend, then off to dinner.

The Reality: On the train home with a bunch of shopping I get a text saying 'Meet in McChuills' with directions. In the spirit of the blog I hopped off the train and made my way to the new venue.

McChuills is a bit further from the flat than west, and looks a bit 'local' at first, but offered pool, cheaper drinks, and live music.

Having arrived to meet the first new face of the evening's proceedings, a primary teacher, I got a round and we claimed seats. Said teacher asked about the loaf of bread which represented the only article from the shop that refused to be put in my work bag. Banter was had.

The friend mentioned in The Plan shows up, a call centre worker, and more pints are had. The pool table clears and team pool commences, I gladly played the handicap to the better players. More new faces pile in - another call centre worker and a journalist. Drinks were drunk, banter was had.

We shifted back to the original table which, folding under the pressure of the occasion, collapsed, sending all the drinks sliding rapidly down the slope to the Australian in our midst. Miraculously he escapes unscathed along with my half-full pint (that's right, I'm a positive guy) and my flatmate's whiskey and coke. We physicists are looked upon kindly by the forces that are the bane of so many drinkers. The bar offers free drinks to replace the ones lost (or just for the hassle of having to shift from my seat to collect my errant pint in my case). An omen, for sure.

The rest of the night blazed by, filled with booze, another new face, banter ranging from the Australian Government's stance on Aboriginal culture to bread (bring a loaf of Weight Watcher's Brown Danish to a pub and you'll talk about it too). Eventually those with more sense made for home so as to be half sensible in work the next day. Time to hit the road.

To be honest though, that time had come long before, I just didn't notice. I had a man's share of booze coursing through my system and no dinner yet, at 12.30am. This was promptly rectified by a delightful kebab (shish, not donner - I wasn't that drunk yet), chips, and a fiery El Paso pizza from The Wishbone. Maybe it was hunger, maybe it was booze, maybe they just make amazing food, whatever the case may be, it was delightful.

And here, our night at McChuills ended. But for those who want closure on the story, here it is: Stagger home, drink water, sleep. I managed to avoid the hangover by some miracle and put in a good day's work the next day, but drinking on a weekday evening is a privilege that should be left to those who have holidays on the go or are students who have to drink on weekdays to take advantage of the deals. Yeah, this story has a moral. Whether or not I have heeded the lesson is left to be seen....