I don’t really like my work nights out. There’s something about them that is inescapably un-classy. The price of every round is the topic of conversation for at least half of the depth of the glasses it’s paid for. And when the glasses are half-empty (for in this company, they’re rarely half-full), and the bubbles of chat can’t cling to the sides of what we have in common, the whole party suddenly seems quite flat. We went to the Rain Bar. I had four beers pretty quickly, and got out as early as possible.
After my second Wilmslow Road bus of the week, I met Liz strolling around the corner just as I arrived at the Railway. We hello-ed, and sat down for a drink. Onwards, to Folk, the former Deli on Burton Road, and then Silver Apples, the former West, and beyond to The Drawing Room. Of the current version of West Didsbury Wanky-opoly, we were only The Metropolitan away from being able to build a whole chain of hotels. I love West Didsbury, don’t get me wrong, and its wankiness is one of the reasons why. And after all that booze, what’s not to like?
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