Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

DISCLAIMER: I had a lot of fun during the weekend and it was great meeting all of you as usual. My write up is intended to capture the light-hearted nature of the weekend, but due to tiredness and a self inflated sense of my own humour, it has turned out slightly packed full of lies and slander. I'll let the lawyers decide how much can be proven in court.

Ah, Manchester. The city that had claimed my meet-up vomit cherry the year before. It was obvious to me that the only way to gain closure from this shameful event was to head back there and drink more alcohol without throwing it up, though now that I type it out it I realize it was actually a pretty stupid plan, doomed to failure from the start.

Having booked a Megabus return and Premier Inn room for the Friday-Sunday, I realized on Thursday morning I had no reason not to head down that afternoon for some night zero beerage. I quickly typed out a bed-begging post worthy of a 419 fraudster and booked an afternoon Megabus before heading into Glasgow to catch it. After avoiding a literal flood of urine on the bus into town, it was a relief to see the Megabus was kitted out with a proper toilet.

A mere four hours later I was in t'city of Manchester, ready to charm/offend/fistfight the internet population. I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude when Grant and Oliver walked all the way to the bus station to meet me personally. This gratitude promptly evaporated when it turned out they'd walked for all of one minute, but I didn't let it show on my face as I pencilled them in for later revenge.

Our bar of choice for the night was the delightful (CHECK), located on nearby (CHECK) St/Road/Square/Terrace. Meeting up with Will, Bez, one of like, seven Tommys, Sam, Jess, Kes, that American guy that's always there and of course good old (CHECK), we worked our way through several overpriced flaming cocktails served by Hawaiian-shirt clad staff. My favourite was the one that combined two shots of (CHECK), a splash of (CHECK) and a fresh slice of (CHECK). It really took me back to happier childhood days before that guy (DON'T CHECK, REPRESS)-ed me in the street.

After a quick plate of chips it was off to Luis's'ses (s) apartment in the fashionable bus terminal district. Several whiskey and cokes followed as we were joined by FimSam, Chris and FimSam's friend, whose name I'm scared to admit I forgot. Chris surprised both Luis, who thought he wasn't turning up and me, who thought I'd killed him when I bought him Marlboro Reds in London last August without realizing he was only fourteen years old.

Several more whiskey and cokes followed before I forgot the golden rule of whiskey and cokes: Never ever drink whiskey and cokes. Having broken this simple commandment, I did the one thing I'd intended to avoid, namely throwing up in Manchester again. Fortunately I vomited accurately down the toilet this year so I can hold my head up in that regard, though I couldn't at the time, due to aiming constraints.

I then slept on Luis' couch until I was awoken by myself waking up. It was now the second day, or day one as it was called. A pleasant full English breakfast with Will, Chris and Oliver set me up for a hard morning of watching Jeremy Kyle berate the British public for being fat, unemployed, pregnant, unable to count or all six of the above.

Growing bored of discussions about fatherless babies, we moved on to the Premier Inn, where I enjoyed a coffee despite Keith turning up with the specific aim of spilling it all over me. I checked the fuck in and was horrified to learn that I'd been given a double room instead of a twin, though later research revealed I'd booked a Siamese twin room. D'oh!

Mystery surprise unexpected guest number two, CoopWill, turned up next. To punish him for thinking he could get away with this kind of shit, we left him behind and grabbed two taxis to the Kyoto Lounge, turning up a whole day earlier than planned.

Annoyingly CoopWill had followed us there and brought along some other guy called Tom who none of us had met before, not counting in London last August that is. Kes and Keith challenged them to a "thrilling" game of real-life pretend Farmville which CoopWill won, despite his beard not being of acceptable farming standard.

Next came the Odder bar, so called because it thinks it's cleverer than it is. I had a couple of Odder lagers (drinkable), a shot of green sugar water (drinkable) and a slice of Grant's pizza (undrinkable, you have to chew it). A quick Subway followed, where I cunningly used one of my "fake" Scottish notes to pay for a "steak" sandwich. They started it!

Inevitably we ended up in the smallest, darkest, loudest Karaoke bar in Manchester again. I decided not to drink any more for the time being and simply enjoyed watching various songs by the varied attendees. Lee finally turned up as did SmallJames, but I failed to engage him in conversation, or anyone in that place for that matter.

The weekend's final surprise guest was SmallBlondeAlkie, a short yellow-haired pisshead who insisted on transferring as much saliva as possible into as many ears as she could. Thankfully she didn't ruin too many peoples' nights despite apparently moonlighting as a coat thief at one point.

By that point I had moved outside the bar and was propping up the pavement. Actually that's a poor choice of words considering my antics last year, I simply meant I was chatting outside to various folken, including FimSam and FimSam's friend FimMatt, so called because of his non NG ties to FimSam. It just makes more sense, OK?

I decided to retire to bed early then did a literal 180 (not literally) and hung about till we went to the Bay Horse. Patrick wanted to be the centre of attention so started arguing with the bouncer about who had the coolest phone, prompting several users to whip theirs out and start loudly dialling each other. Eventually we made it inside, where Patrick continued to cause confusion, adding me on Facebook one minute then spilling my drink on me the next. Then buying me a replacement drink the minute after those and bringing it over during the fourth of these minutes. I started drinking it in the fifth minute and went home after finishing it, though I forgot to time how long that took. A missed opportunity I feel, this time based segment is one of the strongest so far in my opinion.

Lee chose to go home with Luis instead of me, which was kind of cruel I thought, but he explained that he couldn't resist an American accent so I forgave him. Plus it gave me the double bed to myself which was pretty sweet. After a lonely Macdonalds breakfast alone, I trekked back to the Premier Inn then back to Macdonalds again so everyone else could get some! GET SOME! RARGH!

We met Luis near Starbucks (of course), then it were time for the Kyoto Lounge again. I had yet more Desperados and watched people play TF2, KF, P2, SF4, BL, B, HR and many other games I can't be bothered to type out in full.

At this point Dean's insatiable Guinness thirst caused him to kidnap Luis and I and force us to join him at a nearby Bar/Zoo called Bar/Zoo. While the Zoo part of the name turned out to be in violation of Trading Standards' strict naming code, the Bar bit was accurate enough and we soon drank our own weight in Guinness, Hobgoblins, Yeager bombs and nachos. Also Andy was there. And Will. And you, thusfar unmentioned person!

Ignoring the fact that the toilet seemed like an afterthought, it was a pretty cool place to end the night in. There was just time for the world's most expensive pizza at Dominoes before a group of us staggered home. I managed to burn the roof of my mouth and to add insult to injury, Lee had got back to our room first, despite his Northern-laziness-based handicap.

Hopping into the now scarily small double bed, Lee warned me that he snored. Fortunately I can more than hold my own in a game of "Loudest Snorer is a Better Person", and it proved to be an easy victory for Scotland. For a change.

I only managed a cup of coffee on Sunday morn. That and another full English breakfast, though neither Lee nor I could finish ours, him due to fried mushrooms being "too healthy" and me due to the sudden realization that I'd eaten three cooked chicken foetuses (I later found out most people refer to them as "fried eggs") in three days, which is to my mind an unethical amount of half born birds. I liberated the last one onto the street. "You're free now", I whispered, watching in awe as it was trodden on by a fat Manchurian tramp. He immediately demanded compensation but I ran into Luis' flat and shut the door so he couldn't stab me.

Then it was off t' bus station, where I sat for two bloody hours because my bus blew a gasket, or some such mechanical fault (flat tire? Internal combustion? Massive head trauma?). A delightful four hours later I pulled into sunny (lies) Glasgow (true) by the sea (half-true, it has a river) and frankly wondered why I'd ever left. Next year fo' sho'!

T'End