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Fun'n'Games >> Amusing Anecdotes >> A Veritable Tale of Woe (part 1)

A Veritable Tale of Woe (part 1)

A true story of hunger, fatigue, frustration, badly signposted restaurants, the crossing of three international boundaries and lesbian fish.
By Senior Dipsomaniac Dave Priestley

(ok, so I lied about the lesbian fish...)

The date was Saturday, 3 November 2001. A meaningless date to many, but not to the loyal members of the Dipsomania Society- for today is the day of the revered Wallasey Pub Crawl.

The time was 0400 GMT. Most of the Dipsoes were safely tucked up in their beds, either dreaming of heavy alcoholic consumption and largely irresponsible tomfoolery or lying awake feeling really rather excited about the day ahead and what it may have in store.

I, however, was in a bit of a pickle. Due to circumstances entirely within my control, I had left myself with seven hours in which to transport myself to the Nags Head Public House, Rake Lane, Wallasey, Wirral, Merseyside CH45 1JP.

From Parc Craig Glais, Morfa Mawr, Aberystwyth, Ceredigion, Dyfed, Cymru SY23 2HQ. And I hadn't even had my brekkie yet.

Aberystwyth is situated slap bang in the middle of the Welsh coast. The Nags Head isn't.
As is quite clearly shown by the map below, Aberystwyth is both

Map
In fact, according to the AA's website, which provides driving directions and distances, the journey I somehow had to travel in the next seven hours was 120.6 miles, and would take a mere 2 hours and 55 minutes by car. But I didn't have a car. I had to get the train.

The previous day, I had spoken to my friend Mr Dominic Griffiths via email. I had informed him that I planned to stay for the Friday night in Aberystwyth, where I was visiting another friend (Mr William Robinson BSc) and would then get the first train back in order to be at the pub in time for opening.

Dom pondered my idea before deciding his sentiments would be better expressed in visual form rather than verbal, and sent me a picture of what he thought of my "hair-brained scheme".

Hair-brained
These aspersions cast upon my drinking and waking stamina only served to strengthen my resolve to do it. I was going to go out and get up early and get back in time. Oh yes, that'll show him. I thought. That'll show him. So I went out and got trolleyed.

So there I was, scurrying round trying to gather all my stuff - I had been far too pissed to do it earlier - and get to the train station in time for the 5.22. If I missed the train there wouldn't be another one for two hours. Going anywhere. I told you Aberystwyth was in the middle of nowhere.

The train station is a 20 minute walk from the house. I did it in five, carrying a heavy bag. Not as heavy as it would have been if I'd have remembered my other shoes, but nevertheless pretty heavy.

5.15am, and there I was, in the dark, all alone in a little known train station, in a little known town, in a little known country, far, far away from the pub. 5.22 came, and the train didn't. I waited and I waited until, around three quarters of an hour later, it trundles along. Either the train's going to have to break the land speed record or I was going to miss my 7.33 connection to Liverpool.

So off pootles the train at a leisurely pace, and I divide my time between intently watching my watch and blowing forward as hard as I can to help shift the lump of ageing metal I was travelling on.

At around 7.15 we passed Yr Trallwng, or Welshpool to you and me, and crossed International Boundary Number One back into good old England. At least I was in the right country now, eh?

7.45 and the train pulled into Shrewsbury. One mournful glance at the departures board informed me that the next train that might be of any use to me did not leave Shrewsbury for another two hours; indeed it wouldn't even be in Shrewsbury yet for another just less than two hours.

Now I was pissed off, and I was hungry.

A Veritable Tale of Woe (Page 2)