Don’t lecture me. I knew our pub crawl was a bad idea
As you read this on Sunday morning, I’ll undoubtedly be lyingy hungover in a Glasgow hohotel bedroom.
The cause of my disgrace? A rereunion with university pals.
One of these pals – Allen – hahad suggested a pub crawl on Saturday night (last night) personal hero, Margaret Thatcher. She abolished capital controls in her first month in power. Daddy Cameron began setting up and directing investment funds in tax havens around the world in 1982.
I guarantee you his son David – then a podgy- faced, entitled 16-year- old marching around Eton – was right there at his side, learning, dreaming of a time when he could help his rich friends stick it to us all.
Every time you drive over a pothole, endure hours in A&E, despair at the nick of your child’s tatty textbook or wince when you look at the bite taken out of your salary by the HMRC, remember – you’re p a y i n g mor e because Britain’s m i l l iona i r e s , millionaires like Call Me Dave’s dear old dad, are paying nothing at all. around many of the bars close to the flats we lived in as students in the mid-to-late 80s.
We’d start in Partick and work our way through the west end towards town.
I counted the pubs on his proposed route – there were potentially 12. “So we’ll just have halves in each?” I asked.
“No, no.” Allen replied. “Pints.”
“I can’t drink 12 pints,” I said. “I’m not 19 any more.”
His proposed comprise? “Okay. A half and a half in each pub.”
For younger readers, a half and a half means a half pint of beer and a whisky chaser.
That’s right – Allen was proposing we drink six pints and 12 whiskies along the way.
So, if I bumped into you in Glasgow last night, all I can say is: “I’m sorry. It really wasn’t my idea. Blame Allen.”