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Christmas Miracle

Submitted by on December 24, 2012 – 6:57 pmOne Comment

Stagecoach_in_busEnd of term drinks are drunken affairs. People moan about work, moan about their husbands, moan about their life. But generally it’s a jolly outing that descends into incoherence. This end of term drink was no different, I’d lost the ability to talk at about midnight, we’d left school at three and drunk and drunk.

There was a point I can remember when I was trying to articulate the benefits of delegated responsibility and I was desperately looking in my mind for the word ‘delegated’ and realised that all I could visualise was a gaping void of blackness. There was just nothing there in my brain; it was empty of all language, words, ideas, concepts and emotions. My brain had ceased to exist, the alcohol had done its job, oblivion had been accomplished. Nine hours of solid non-stop drinking had finally reached its sordid conclusion.

I stopped the useless endeavour of communication and slumped back in my chair, staring blankly into space, jaw dropped, drooling happily. People around moved phantom-like, speaking in strange tongues, the cacophony of sound creating a lullaby, soothing and soporific. Time to make that final journey, the revelations of the evening seeping and crawling back into the murkiness of consciousness. The things that were said. It was a knowledge that was painful, unnerving and distressing.

In the taxi, town was the only single syllable word I was able to say, but it was enough. Cash was the next most important thing to smash through my oblivion. Wallet had been put into my bag, searching and uncovering got a negative result which didn’t really matter because I had my card in my jacket pocket oddly enough. Cash point stop and the taxi driver was happy.

Lads

A drunken sleep, desert-dry throat, thirst and head pain rose me from my slumber and while weeing the realisation that I had lost my wallet hit me harder than that meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs. I searched, pulled everything out of my bag, ran my hands through coat, pants, socks and shoes. Looked under sofa, bed and wardrobe. Fridge, cooker, knickers drawer and bin got the CID treatment. It was gone.

Phoned the Metropolitan, no. Couldn’t remember where we were next got the number of someone who would know and phoned but the number was disconnected. Trip back to West Didsbury was the only way. I didn’t believe my wallet would be there but not to try would have plagued me for the rest of my life.

railway01104 stomped along down Princess Parkway, along a motorway, into Wythenshawe. I was lost. Got off the bus in Deliverance country, I could hear the banjos playing. Cried, phoned, cried a bit more and the returning 104 arrived. Lapwing Lane please mate. You’ll have to walk down Cavendish Road. I did.

Found The Railway, walked up to the bar and the barmaid said ‘Hello again’. Which was very disturbing because I’d only ever been in that place the evening before so God knows what I’d been up to that the barmaid remembered me the next day. ‘I’ve lost…’, ‘Yes you have, it’s here’.

Everything was in it, cash, library card and car licence. I gave her a tenner and had a cup of tea.

The couple in the corner were snuggled up and watching. It had a nice feeling this pub. I’m going to visit it often and lose all sorts of stuff here, safe in the knowledge that it will be returned. This is my favourite place in Manchester.

One Comment »

  • yoss says:

    Top pub,live on the next street and was in there that day.Was sat near the window reading the paper and i’m sure I noticed a flustered FC fan ( pin badges and Mephisto shoes ?) pop in and out.

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