Page 82 - 368603 LP250721 AWY AWY AWY Book (238pp A5)

me, said they gave away tickets to Old Trafford in Cornflakes packets. We were knocking the beers back and hits such as ‘Magic’ by Pilot played on the jukebox. We finally piled out of there and as we searched for another pub Keith started baiting passing strangers with insulting comments about Man Utd. We told him to watch his mouth but he didn’t take any notice. We proceeded to the less than salubrious Yates Wine Lodge and there certainly wasn’t much wine in evidence.
We ploughed through loads more beer as the place filled up, with Keith shouting “The Geordies are over here!” at various points. (The term Geordies had a different connotation back then of course.) After a while Keith went for a slash and I didn’t think too much about how long he’d been away till a guy who turned out to be the manager came over for a quiet word with Pete and I. This was only a few months after two bombs had exploded in two busy Birmingham pubs killing nineteen and injuring a hundred and eighty people and the manager pointed out that our mate had been in the bog for an unusually long time and any plain- clothes policeman on the premises would find that very interesting. He accompanied Pete and I to the lav, where Keith sat asleep on the bog in an unlocked cubicle with his trousers and underpants round his ankles. I woke him up and he shook hands with the manager before falling asleep again. Anyway, we finally got him out of there but he didn’t get any better.
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