All entries for Friday 26 November 2004

November 26, 2004

I respect you alcohol. Lets not fight again.

First lets get something straight. I'm somewhat of a lightweight in the beer drinking department, I generally don't drink very much or very regularly. My usual limit before drunkenness ensues is a mighty one pint. I'm sure that the hardcore drinkers will mock me for my pathetic tolerance but I will press on.

Last night I was lured away from the safety of my keyboard by the weekly promise of 'curry night' a Wetherspoons run festival of food that happens every thursday in which I usually indulge in anything thats not a curry. Everything was running swimmingly the food was on time and quick at that, we found a table with not too much hassle and, most importantly, the first beer was drunk.

Where things started to go wrong was when someone mentioned another pub that had recently changed hands (The Malt Shovel), suddenly it seemed like we had to go and check it out and see if the handover had changed things from the good old days. Hold on, the good old days? This was to be the first time I had ever stepped into the place, this is the point where logic clearly started to break down.

Our group changed its shape a bit on the way to the Malt Shovel losing three members but picking up two replacements. The group was still strong, the night was still young, we were invincible and we marched fearlessly towards Spon End.

Entering the Malt Shovel I was amazed at its small size, it seemed like the two front rooms of someone's house with some beer taps fitted. It seemed to be leaning in an irish direction but wasn't quite distinct enough to have a real personality. However it earns lots of points for being small, free of pre-night on the town types and very close to home. It was here, where the path to madness really began as I asked the barman for that crucial second pint. Once downed I was over the edge, I was into the unsober realms.

As conversation moved on in the Malt Shovel it became clear that there was another pub-not-that-far-away-that-we-really-had-to-see. I also got into several conversations about blogs in which it was universally implied that blogs were only acting as a poor substitute for face to face conversation (a topic for another day). What was taking shape, ladies and gentlemen, was a pub crawl.

Some members of our party were now sensible enough to realise the path we were taking and swiftly peeled off. I was not among them, with beer fortifying our navigation skills we headed into the heart of Spon End, past the pub-you-just-do-not-go-in, past the housing estates, under the tunnel and into historic Coventry.

The next pub was called the Old Windmill. I'm ashamed to say it took me this long to discover it, it was a lovely place. Old wood panneling and fires all over the place and a really cosy atmosphere, I chose to celebrate its magnificence with another beer. At this point things get a little more hazy, I'm sure there was a very funny poster about local radio and that a football trivia competition was begun. I am absolutely useless at football trivia and in fact most things to do with football, but I agreed to keep the score. Its fair to say that our house's football expert was soundly beaten by the expert of another house.

We didn't stay in the Old Windmill nearly long enough for last orders were approaching and a pub crawl without four pubs is just foolish looking. I am sad to say I have no idea what the name of the last pub we went to was, it does have a very small room at the front though. I was so pleased, to reach this pub because I was somewhat in need of relieving myself, that I decided to give thanks by ordering another pint. That takes my grand total to four pints, which for me is four times over the suggested daily intake.

I'd reccommend this last pub, for several reasons. The small room (maximum; four people could fit in) with a bar in it, the clean toilets and the central location. I'm almost certain I could find it again.

It was at this time that I began to become wistful and I'm sure spoke about the future with great lucidity. Last orders came and went, Then we were eventually turfed out on to the streets.

I accidentally walked into a postbox the same size as me on the way home. Oh dear.

On getting home, we made sure everyone else was awake by making as much noise as possible and the house engaged in some highly entertaining mario tennis. Somehow a plate got smashed but all was well.

I may have accidently commented on some blogs.

I'm sorry.

Sam Boulby's Official Fan club

As one door closes another opens. We welcome all Warwick blogs subscribers to join the Sam Boulby official fan club. Sam Boulby is clearly the most munificent man on warwick blogs, he has raised many a hand in defiance to the man and shown more than one person how to open a really difficult packet of crisps. For this reason I ask you all to raise your arms and show support for The Man, the mountain, the anti James Hughes

Sam Boulby.

All subscribers will recieve nothing but hatred as that is all we can expect and all that we deserve. Focused hatred will cost £999 a month and will be recieved via spam email.

Don't join. We don't need your love, just your bodies and your money. Leave both in unmarked envelopes, undressed.

No more meta blog blogging from me. A proper update tommorow (well tommorow proper) when I'm less drunk.

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