Monday 27th September 2021, 11:50am
I am sitting outside the Little Roodee Cafe in Chester as I write this. A man sitting opposite me has just asked me if I am a “fellow coach spotter”, so I fear I may have stumbled into a local weirdo meeting spot by accident, but I’ve already ordered myself an americano and lit a cigarette so it’s too late to leave now.
For those who know I’m trying to go without using my iPhone, your first question might be “how are you writing this, fatty?”, and I must admit, I am on my iPhone. It’s actually annoyed me a bit how difficult it is to go without it, I’ve been fine without social media and things like that but just for basic things that I’ve come to rely on, such as Spotify and google maps, it’s impossible to go without one.
Chester is absolutely stunning. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to visit a city known to be steeped in such a rich and interesting history, and the architecture is beautiful. So far this morning I’ve just been wandering around the city walls, stopping to take pictures and read the information boards, and once I’ve completed the full circle I’ll probably head into the centre and visit a museum or something. The rest of the group have already set off home so I can enjoy some peace and quiet – I can’t imagine Tom Brooks appreciating centuries of local history if I’m being completely honest.
We’ve had a great weekend. We popped into the city for a bit of shopping and a spot of lunch when we arrived on Friday, before stopping at Aldi for supplies and heading to the house, which actually turned out to be across the border in Wales, which none of us had noticed whilst booking it. I cooked pasta in a creamy tomato sauce for dinner, which was bloody lovely if I do say so myself, before proceeding to do what we always do and get absolutely smashed. Before I even had time to blink it was 3am, I’d had two bottles of wine and half a bottle of gin and I crawled upstairs to bed, praying to god that my hangover wasn’t too bad on Saturday morning.
Unsurprisingly, it was. My head felt as though it had been placed in a vice and squeezed as tight as it could go. After being sick a couple of times and reluctantly getting into my (gorgeous) pink suit, we headed back into the city. I felt my soul leaving my body as we walked into the pub at 11am and Sam ordered me a pint, but I ploughed on and after a few pints I was right as rain and we strolled down to the racecourse, where perhaps the highlight of the trip unfolded – Sam wasn’t allowed in because he wasn’t wearing a blazer so he had to literally run to Primark and spend £25 on a blazer that didn’t fit him, didn’t match his trousers and he took straight off once security has let him through. We were all extremely sympathetic.
The racecourse itself is amazing, even if it is vastly overpriced. It just doesn’t make any logical sense at all – I felt awful, my head hurt, I was sweating buckets from a mixture of my hangover and the glaring sun, I didn’t win any of my bets, it was £6 for a pint of cider, there was nowhere to sit down and yet I absolutely loved every single minute of it. There is genuinely no way to adequately describe just how much fun a day at the races is. Stood next to my best friends, picking out horses you know are probably going to lose, with a pint in one hand and a fag in the other, listening to Sam and Tom try to justify their gambling addictions whilst Sian and Lana complain about the price of a bottle of Prosecco – where else would you rather be?
After the races it was genuinely quite mesmerising to just watch thousands of people swarm into the centre and immediately start queueing for bars, there was just something so uniquely English about it, especially the young gentleman who I walked past sat on the steps of a house, being sick on his own shoes as one of his friends patted him on the back and the other one stood there filming it. Luckily Sam had booked us a table at a nice restaurant so there was no queueing for us, although I dear fear we significantly lowered the tone of the poor establishment that had to host us. After a beautiful meal and a quick stop at Sainsbury’s for more wine and fags, we stumbled into a taxi and crossed the border once again.
Logically, back at the house, you’d think, ah, I’ve been drinking since 11am, maybe just a few more and then up to bed so I can be up and fresh to do something tomorrow. Right? Wrong. It was another two bottles of wine, some awful karaoke, a brief dip in the hot tub, several “private conversations” (a well known favourite pastime of mine) and an even later bedtime of 5am. Personally I blame Elia, she’s an awful influence on us all.
It won’t surprise you to know that my head felt even worse on Sunday morning than it did on Saturday. Well, I say morning, it was already afternoon by the time we awoke. The other 5 decided to head back into the city for the day, but I decided to hang back at the house on my own and, call me miserable if you wish, I had a lovely day. I did a bit of writing, listened to some music, went to the shop for some food and cooked myself a lovely steak for dinner before opening another bottle of wine and watching the last day of the Ryder Cup. Once the others returned from the city we all sat in the hot tub for a bit, exchanging insults and generally being far too loud and inappropriate, before cooking and eating all the food we had left over. It was quite an early one last night in all fairness – I went to bed at 12 and the others weren’t too far behind me.
That brings us to now. The others have set off home and I’m in Chester on my own, making the most of my time up here and the beautiful weather. I’ve spent a mind blowing amount of money, I’ve probably destroyed both my liver and my dignity and eaten enough to feed a family of four for a week, but I’ve had a brilliant weekend full of non-stop laughter with my very good friends, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope you are all well x
