Everybody get ready for the first ever Surerandomality Mad Night Out, sponsored by Stella Artois and Red Rooster, and a chance to meet A-list Surerandomality stars like Squirrel, G Man and Hopalong, and a fair smattering of B –list stars like Ricky Organ. It’s coming to Manchester on Friday April 25^th, starting time and location have now been finalised. Start time is going to be 8.30, and the starting location is going to be Scubar, with the final destination being 5^th Avenue, strictly Jeans and Trainers, no fucking townie poncy smart shit, cos make no mistake this will get messy. So save your pennies and get your arses to Manchester, other events to be organised for the remainder of the weekend.

Then on Saturday 14^th June, there will be the first ever Chez Didsbury Sports Day, Barbeque, Disco and late night drinking session, so clear your diaries, hone your Frisbee, football and saucepan throwing skills, get your sleeping bags aired and bring plenty of alcohol.

Happy Easter everybody, and remember, Easter Monday means half price Easter eggs everywhere.

Congratulations to Blondie, who came back and regained her blonde of the week title.

Welcome to this week's letters, and what have you done? You’ve reacted to last week’s issue in a never before seen manner, which would suggest that it’s still warm, the blood that courses through your veins.

First up is the response to my rant on Big Fat Ron last week, it would seem that an overwhelming 85.71% of you agree that he is a buffoon. One obvious dissenting voice was, unsurprisingly Bert Merriweather, who seems to have some kind of obsession, and it is my opinion that he’d be quite happy to hold hands and take windy walks with the perma tanned cretin. Anyway on the side of reason, a Mr A Gray, from London writes, "I have to agree with the sentiments of the editor, and say that in all my years of listening to commentators and summarisers, it is my opinion, that without a shadow of a doubt, Ron Atkinson is the worst thing ever to offend my ears."

After another random offering from my North East correspondent, there were further letters, asking about both the free reign that he appears to have, and the use of the mailing list. Mr Liam Cornish, from Bury St Edmonds, Suffolk writes, "I think it appears that your correspondent does what he feels like, put a leash on him, or get rid of him. If he was working for me I’d cut his fucking Jacobs off." Well, what have I told you about thinking? Now, you’re a ruthless little cunt Liam, I’ll say that for you, BUT I decide what to do with my staff. I did suggest to my correspondent that I would have to cease payments if there wasn’t some quality control, BUT he replied, Fac it, I’ll do it for free.

The Internet issue raised it’s head again, with a Miss Scanda Webb, from Tipperary, Ireland, writing, "Do you realise what problems it would cause if you moved your site? You’d have to change all those little bits you cut and paste from issue to issue with the web site address on. Then we’d all have to change the favourites on our internet explorers. Get the providers to sort it, and let them do the work, not us." Well I have had correspondence from 20fr this week, in response to my question, How long til the site’s fixed? 5 days, they replied. 5 days, says I, it was 2 days, 5 days ago according to you. So I told them you’ve got 48 hours, else it’s your loss. So word is by the time you’re reading this the site should be up and running properly again.

I’ve also had numerous letters from Solicitors firms all round the country offering to snatch the chance to represent me in a potential case against my current band of shysters. However with some of them not exactly being from this planet, they sent them to S. Crude, P. Iston & S.C. Harper direct. From this they have agreed that they are actually responsible for the fact that they failed to tell me the circumstances regarding the settlement of the previous copyright cases, and therefore will settle any damages brought about by the two current cases. Tip Top, I’m just not sure about the colour of their money.

The most letters, of course came on the subject of Rex, as you will read below there is going to be a memorial service, with a time and a place to be organised. There were many letters of condolences. L. Ward, from Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, wrote, "it’s the relatives I feel sorry for, loss is such a personal thing." K. O’Neil from Inverness, Scotland added, "It is such a loss, God has shat on our heads." S. Wilson fro Bristol, pined, "I am absolutely devastated, at least we could have got the day off." Meanwhile T.D. Wainwright, from Hastings, East Sussex writes, "Could Rex not have avoided the Green Roller, it’s not exactly inconspicuous is it?" That’s a bit strong isn’t it? The final letter on the subject goes to W. Waugh, from Richmond, Surrey, who expresses forth, "Such is life, things are given with one hand, and then taken away with another, and life is short, and it will get a lot shorter if a green roller wants it to."

Then there was this little excerpt send in by a Kurt Waldheim, from Kaarst in Germany writes, "Leben, es ist kein kitzelnder Wettkampf. Jemand hat mich, was ich ungefähr Diamanten gefragt weiß? Ich weiß nicht! Dann hat jemand anders, Was im Auto gefragt Ist? Kommt es von Antwerpen? Es war eine rhetorische Frage." Now did you understand a single word of what he just said? No well I didn’t either, BUT not to worry, it’s probably just asking about the rice of Sauerkraut over here, or something.

The rejection of the chance of employment for Mr Perrin, seems to have pushed him over the edge, and his weekly correspondence consisted of just one phrase repeated over and over, "Where is the stone", I don’t know, Mr Perrin, I’m not a warden.

That's it for the letters for this week, BUT there will be more next week.

A couple of items that have caught my eye this week.

Athens, Texas, 3rd District Court Judge Jim Parsons had just accepted a guilty plea from Ray Mason, 40, and sentenced him to 8 years in prison for assault when Mason "said something like, 'Hey, judge. Look at this'," remembers Barry Spencer, the district attorney in the case. The judge looked up to see Mason drop his pants and "moon" him, then turn around to repeat the gesture to the packed courtroom. Judge Parsons called Mason back before the bench and added six months to his sentence for contempt of court. "It was one of those things that was kind of funny," Spencer said, "BUT you don't want to laugh." - Well they do say that the law is an ass.

Keith Sanderson was at his job making kitchen counters in Newcastle upon Tyne, England, when a cutter chopped off the end of his thumb. A supervisor rushed over to see what had happened, so Sanderson showed him, carefully using his other hand. The machine promptly chopped off the end of his index finger. - This is what happens when you have no brains mixed with dangerous machinery, you end up getting the chop.

It’s been another weekend of carnage, without any time available to save your breath to cool your pies. It has been tip top, and totally unplanned and unscripted. Friday saw Ricky Organ off to China for some time, only no one can remember how long for after this weekend. Squirrel had the intention of doing nothing, BUT with G Man and Hopalong playing Hawk, it drove him to raid the baby and get a beer. This led to several more beers, before a mini road trip, through 3 Didsbury pubs, and a torturous bus journey into town. The dirty, cheap and cheerful venue of 5^th Ave called, and as expected things got messy early on. 20 vodka and red roosters each, along with numerous bottles, meant that the time space continuum failed and before they knew it, it was after 3, and they were outside arguing the toss over whether to go to the casino (Viva Las Vegas) or not. Squirrel opted for the taxi journey home, leaving G Man and Hopalong to raid the casino (Viva Las Vegas) and for once in his life Hopalong came home with over £300, and no it wasn’t straight out of the cash machine. After a short sleeping spell, fried breakfast was conjured up, and the football was put on. With absolutely no need whatsoever Squirrel started the half bottle of bacardi, and within an hour the beers were flowing, however this did lead to the unfortunate affliction of Squirrel spending the rest of the day speaking in Pikey, much to the annoyment of G Man and Hopalong. After two proper and one Portuguese shower, they went out, with a brief stop at the co-op to totally embarrass Hopalong, they went to check out their local, the somewhat strangely named (for the time of year) The Sun in September. After persuading the G Man that continued drinking was a good idea they got a taxi to Scubar, where they managed to consume 3 goldfish bowls, before moving on again to Jabez, this time having to physically move G Man past the bus stop to prevent his escape home. Lots more alcohol followed with Squirrel going on a run of drinking 5 consecutive pints of Stella in the down in one mode. Dancing until getting kicked out they staggered to the bus, where some random woman got on the bus and started sucking the face off the G Man, and then got off the bus. Kebab and taxi followed. Sunday saw Hopalong off to visit his gran in hospital in a somewhat worse for wear state, which prevented coherent speech and actions. Squirrel and G Man did absolutely nothing apart from slob in front of the TV. Monday saw, somewhat surprisingly everyone manage to turn into work, BUT it did take it’s toll, with a very early night being taken by Hopalong, probably helped by Squirrel starting on the Jack Daniels on his arrival home from work, G Man also retired early, BUT Squirrel stayed up til the early hours and finished the bottle. The remainders of the week saw very little action, apart from loafing round the house and watching football. Strange that

After the sad demise of Rex, there have still been a few donations still coming in this week, which have been added to the total, BUT as of Monday any further donations will have to be returned. The grand total for the appeal now stands at £691.79, 12 Guinea, 58 second & 51 First class stamps, 202 euros, $39.99, 9 Irish Punt, 12 drachma, 71 French Francs, 23 Swiss Francs, 34 Belgium Francs, 1756 Andorran Pesetas, 44 Yen, 301 Australian dollars, 666,666 Italian Lira, 2,056,179 Turkish Lira, 7 Krugerands, 28 Luncheon Vouchers, 124 Green Shield Stamps, £221.50 in postal orders, 14 Esso tokens, £30 worth of Circus Casino (Viva Las Vegas) chips, 71,000 WH Smith club card points, 18,000 Nectar points, 4 Car wash tokens, 5 Milk Tokens, £15 worth of Argos vouchers, £2.50 worth of Mothercare vouchers, £20 worth of Specsavers vouchers and £1420 worth of out of date HMV money off vouchers, thanks to all those that have contributed, and please No more contributions.

The dispersal of the remaining funds is now the major concern. It is only fair to let, you the readers (and contributors) decide which good cause we should donate the remaining funds from the Rex appeal to.

Due to public demand, we shall be having a Rex Memorial service in the not too distant future, a time and a place just needs to be sorted, hopefully somewhere central to make it easier for people to attend.

Back by popular demand? You must be fucking joking. The last thing anyone wanted was for Vladimir to raise his unsightly ugly face again. How the sneaky fucking Russian had managed to escape from his concrete overcoat and be sitting drinking vodka with vodka chasers, no one knew. Houdini would have been pleased of a trick like that, submerged to his neck in 1.4 metric tonnes of concrete, with handcuffs on, and left til the concrete set, and then driven to lake Baikal and dropped in the middle of it. There was no reason on earth why he should be sitting in front of them, large as life and happy as Larry.

A former KGB cancer, Vladimir had earned his dunking by shagging the wife of his boss, which he might have got away with it, if she hadn’t have gone mental when she found him in bed with her 16 year old daughter. When they had gone to get him, he had taken 6 of them out, before he was finally restrained with the use of a stun gun, a plastic bag and some masking tape. Even when brought before his boss, he was unrepentant. When asked, "Do you know who I am?" He replied, "Yes, you silly fat bastard." When being put in his overcoat, I did suggest to the boss that I thought he was being too lenient with him, only to be told, "Thinking can get you into a lot of trouble, you shouldn’t do so much of it."

Six months later, here I am sat in a bar in Stepney, looking, probably in horror, at the sight of Vladimir drinking vodka as if it was going on prohibition in the next two minutes. I know that he recognises me, and the only possible reason for him being here is for my execution. I feel my bladder let go, and praise the lord that I’m wearing incontinence pants, although the sensation caused by this is not the best. On legs that are more like jelly than bone, I make it to the phone, and desperately ring the boss. A quick clarification of the situation, was met with a somewhat cooler than hoped for. He was sending Mad Dog Willy and John the Gun round.

I looked round and Vladimir had disappeared. I waited half an hour, somewhat uneasily for the boys to turn up, and only when they hadn’t by that stage did I venture outside. Big mistake, 2.2 seconds of sunlight was all I saw, before I had what appeared to be a tea cosy over my head, and was being bundled into the back of some kind of van.

Dmitri, how good to see you again, it’s good to know that you can never underestimate the predictability of stupidity. Not only do I have you, BUT I know there will be no help. The boss has shit himself, and his boys are missing in action, and he doesn’t even know it. The gun shot himself, rather than let himself be taken by us, and mad dog is claiming insanity and is hiding in a lunatic asylum, which will be his final resting place. Did you know that I’ve bought a pig farm? Let me tell you, pigs are great for disposing of unwanted garbage, they can go through bones like Butter. BUT you’re not going to meet such a pleasant end.

I didn’t hear the rest of the spiel, as I had passed out. Vladimir did not take this very well, and had beaten seven bells of shit out of me before I came round again. He took the tea cosy off my head and I saw him close up, BUT my hearing hadn’t quite returned, and being me I spoke without thinking. "Are you using dog shit for toothpaste?" It was the last thing I remembered.

All of the clocks in the movie Pulp Fiction are stuck on 4:20

The average ear of corn has eight-hundred kernels arranged in sixteen rows

All 50 states are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial on the back of the $5 bill

If knees were backward, what would chairs look like?

If an orange is orange, why isn't a lime called a green or a lemon called a yellow?

Why do your nose run & your feet smell?

Two this week, just because they were close together and because the second one caught my eye and the chances of me being able to remember it next week are spurious.

Excalibur (n).

A magic turd of legendary proportions that rises eerily out of the water in a mist shrouded toilet.

Exorcist (n).

One who is gifted with the power to rid a place of spirits. I.E. the top shelf behind the bar.

An expectant couple were soon to have their first child. Their doctor told them of a new invention to relieve the mother's pain during childbirth. This invention could be attached to the mother and it would transfer the pain she experienced to the baby's father. The couple talked it over and the husband was anxious to help his wife with her delivery. When the blessed time came, they opted to use the new invention. It was strapped to the mother and the dial was set at 1. With the mother's contraction, the husband felt no pain. He asked that the dial be adjusted to 3. With the next contractions, the mother felt less pain and the husband tolerated the experience well. The husband, feeling courageous and noble, asked that the dial be turned to 100%. The nurse did so and the mother completed the entire labour and delivery with no pain. The husband did not feel any pain either, and was certain that women had over-rated their plight in childbirth. A few days later the happy new family returned home from the hospital. They were shocked as they drove into their driveway to see the mailman lying dead on the front porch.

"I'm ashamed of you," the mother said. "Fighting with your best friend is a terrible thing to do!" "He threw a rock at me!" the boy said. "So I threw one at him." The mother stated emphatically, "When he threw a rock at you, you should have come to me." The boy quickly replied, "What good would that have done? My aim is much better than yours."

Little Lucy was playing in the garden when she spotted two spiders mating. "Daddy, what are those two spiders doing?" "They're mating, Lucy" he replied. "What do you call the spider on top, Daddy?" Lucy asked. "Oh, that's a Daddy Longlegs." Lucy asked, "Oh, so one's a Daddy Longlegs and the other one is a Mommy Longlegs?" Daddy replied, "No, both of them are Daddy Longlegs." Lucy thought for a moment, then took her foot and stamped them flat. "Well, we're not having THAT sort of thing in our garden!"

A man approached a local in a village he was visiting. "What's the quickest way to York?" The local scratched his head. "Are you walking or driving?" he asked the stranger. "I'm driving." "That's the quickest way!"

After the college boy delivered the pizza to Amanpreet's trailer house, Amanpreet asked, "What is the usual tip?" "Well," replied the youth, "This is my first trip here, BUT the other guys say if I get a quarter out of you, I'll be doing great." "Is that so?" snorted Preet. "Well, just to show them how wrong they are, here's five dollars." "Thanks," replied the youth, "I'll put this in my school fund." "What are you studying?" asked Preet. The lad smiled and replied, "Applied psychology."

An applicant was filling out a job application. When he came to the question, "Have you ever been arrested?" he wrote, "No." The next question, intended for people who had answered in the affirmative to the previous question, was "Why?" The applicant answered it anyway: "Never got caught."

A defendant in a lawsuit involving large sums of money was talking to his lawyer. "If I lose this case, I'll be ruined!" "It's in the judge's hands now," said the lawyer. "Would it help if I sent the judge a box of cigars?" "No! The judge is a stickler on ethical behavior. A stunt like that would prejudice him against you. He might even hold you in contempt of court." Within the course of time, the judge rendered a decision in favor of the defendant. As the defendant left the courthouse, he said to his lawyer, "Thanks for the tip about the cigars. It really worked!" Confidently the lawyer responded, "I'm sure we would have lost the case if you'd sent them." "BUT I did send them.", replied the man. "What?" shouted the lawyer? "I sure did, that's how we won the case . . . good thing I remembered to enclose the plaintiff's business card."

Three men were discussing aging at the nursing home. "Sixty is the worst age to be," said the 60-year-old. You always feel like you have to pee. And most of the time, you stand at the toilet and nothing comes out!" "Ah, that's nothin'," said the 70-year-old. "When you're seventy, you can't even crap anymore. You take laxatives, eat bran, you sit on the toilet all day and nothin' comes out!" "Actually," said the 80-year-old, "Eighty is the worst age of all." "Do you have trouble peeing too?" asked the 60-year-old. "No, not really. I pee every morning at 6:00. I pee like a racehorse on a flat rock; no problem at all." "Do you have trouble crapping?" "No, I crap every morning at 6:30." With great exasperation, the 60-year-old said, "Let me get this straight. You pee every morning at 6:00 and crap every morning at 6:30. So what's so tough about being 80?" "I don't wake up until 7:00."

An attractive woman from New York was driving through a remote part of Texas when her car broke down. An Indian on horseback came along and offered her a ride to a nearby town. She climbed up behind him on the horse and they rode off. The ride was uneventful except that every few minutes the Indian would let out a whoop so loud that it would echo from the surrounding hills. When they arrived in town, he let her off at the local service station, yelled one final, "Yahoo!" and rode off. "What did you do to get that Indian so excited?" asked the service station attendant. "Nothing," shrugged the woman, "I merely sat behind him on the horse, put my arms around his waist, and held onto his saddle horn so I wouldn't fall off." "Lady," the attendant said, "Indians ride bareback..."

The newlyweds entered the elevator of their Miami Beach hotel. The operator, a magnificent blonde, looked at them in surprise and said, "Why, hello, Teddy, how are you?" A frosty silence prevailed until the couple reached their room, when the piqued bride demanded: "Who was that woman?!" "Take it easy, honey," said the groom, "I'm going to have trouble enough explaining you to her."

Every Friday afternoon, a mathematician goes down to the bar, sits in the second-to-last seat, turns to the last seat, which is empty, and asks a girl who isn't there if he can buy her a drink. The bartender, who is used to weird university types, always shrugs BUT keeps quiet. BUT when Valentine's Day arrives, and the mathematician makes a particularly heart-wrenching plea into empty space, curiosity gets the better of the bartender, and he says, "I apologize for my stupid questions, BUT surely you know there is NEVER a woman sitting in that last stool. Why do you persist in asking out empty space?" The mathematician replies, "Well, according to quantum physics, empty space is never truly empty. Virtual particles come into existence and vanish all the time. You never know when the proper wave function will collapse and a girl might suddenly appear there." The bartender raises his eyebrows. "Really? Interesting. BUT couldn't you just ask one of the girls who comes here every Friday if you could buy HER a drink? Never know --she might say yes." The mathematician laughs. "Yeah, right -- how fucking likely is THAT to happen?"

Little Johnny goes to ask his dad for help with his homework. "Dad, can you explain the difference between potentially and reality" "Well son, it's a bit difficult, BUT I would suggest that you go and ask your mum if she would sleep with Robert Redford for a million pounds, then go and ask your sister if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million pounds, then go and ask your brother if he would sleep with Tom Cruise for a million pounds. Then when you have the answers, think about them and come back and tell me what you think." Well Johnny wanders off to find the other members of his family and to ask them the questions. "Mum, would you sleep with Robert Redford for a million pounds?" Without thinking "Of course I would, I've always fancied Robert Redford, and to get a million pounds to sleep with him would be great" Then Johnny moved on to his sister "Sis, would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million pounds?" "Would I? I'd sleep with him for nothing" Then Johnny moved on to his brother "Bro, would you sleep with Tom Cruise for a million pounds?" After pondering this for a while his brother replied "I think that I would, as there is so much that I could do with a million pounds" Johnny went off and thought about the answers for a while, and then went to see his dad. "Dad, I've been and asked everyone the questions you suggested, and I've come to the following conclusion. Potentially we are multi millionaires, however in reality, we are living with two sluts and a queer"

So then, what’s the plan? Well G Man is praying (and if he isn’t he should be) that Squirrel, is actually going to behave and make it a non alcoholic nut juice this weekend. The forecast for this is good, as with Ricky Organ still being in China, and Hopalong getting away from the confines of Chez Didsbury for a weekend in Swindon, the additional temptations to start raiding the baby is minimised. Lots of football to watch, and a date with international king of sports on Sunday afternoon, should help pad out the extra long weekend. Anyway everybody concerned needs to conserve their energy for the following week, and the first coming of the Surerandomality Mad One. Of course events are likely to change from those advertised, so god only knows what’s going to happen. See y’all next week.

Here’s this week’s random review

It’s a television programme this week, and it’s Sunday afternoon’s International King of Sports on Bravo. Found by accident at 3.30 Sunday afternoon, this masterpiece of broadcasting has now come to the attention of the masses. It’s a simple format, they wheel out Helen Chamberlain, to say a few words at the start and end of each programme, and then in between they have 4 absolute keen to kill monkeys doing 5 events that would be better suited to lunatics in an asylum. First up comes the backwards 200 meters sprint, where unsurprisingly they have to run 200 backwards as fast as they can. It also appears that they have to fall over at least once on the short journey. Then it’s off to the pool for the underwater shot put. They stand in the deep end of a swimming pool on a black circle and shot put through the water, with similar effects to the one you'd experience dropping that black rubber brick when doing your swimming proficiency. Staying in the pool, (well poolside) they move on to the highboard long jump. They run down the ten meter long highboard, which is raised three meters above the surface of the pool, and then jump, trying to get themselves over a tape draped across the surface of the pool. Each time they are successful the tape gets moved back until they start failing to clear it, the last one still jumping wins. Still with water in mind the competitors then move on to the longest skid event. They take a short run up and then try to skid down a long watered plastic sheet. They have to keep both feet on the ground, and get measured to the point where they stop or come off the side of the plastic. If they fall over it is a non skid, 3 non skids and they score fac all. Then to the last event and the piece de la resistance, the falling down event. Not as easy as it sounds, the objective is from a standing start, they have to get their head to hit a cushion on a mat at their feet. Oh, yeah, in the quickest time possible, the slowest each time gets eliminated until there is only one left, cue blokes trying to head Butt the ground as fast as possible. After this has been sorted, then the points are totted up, and the winner moves on to the final where he faces another seven lunatics to do it all again. So far the final has a Brit, a Jap, a Hungarian, and this week's winner a Nigerian. To top it off they have world rankings for this. Absolute genius. In fact so much so, that the residents of Chez Didsbury are trying to put together a series of suitable events for the forthcoming Chez Didsbury Sports day and barbecue.

First the answer from last week. On average there are 876,582 hours in a century, where most people went wrong was the fact that years ending 00 are only leap years if the first two digits are divisible by 4 as well, i.e. 2000 was a leap year, BUT 1900 wasn't, and 2100 won't be. The winner and one of only two people to supply the correct answer is Mr Minu Te, from Daytona, Florida, who wins the Waterford Crystal and Mahogany Hourglass.

For this week’s competition, we turn to a religious / Easter theme. In the Catholic Church, how many masses are held on Good Friday? The prize is a year's supply of Cadbury's crème eggs. (Based on one per day) Send the entries to the normal addresses through the normal channels.

TOTAL = 64

CUMMILATIVE TOTAL = 309

Another random one off section, in which I will go back a year in time and write up the events of a weekend in the traditional Surerandomality style. Well, it's not exactly a year, BUT it was the Easter weekend 2002.

Good Friday morning saw the normal kind of finish time and some shopping on the way home to Chez Rusholme. A couple of hours sleep was interrupted by Hopalong, who was coming to meet the landlady with a view to moving in. Mid afternoon saw Little Mark ringing up, to get their attendance at XS to watch Southampton take on Everton, never two to refuse an excuse for beers, Squirrel and Hopalong were there and an early start on the Stella followed. After the match they moved onto the Friendship, where they sat outside sorting out arrangements to go over to Blackburn on the Monday to see Southampton play Blackburn, and meet up with Bruce for an all day session. Wes, his current missis and Pod arrived, and soon they moved inside as it got colder, once in there Squirrel, saw a couple of women from his agency and stood at the bar talking to them. Hopalong came over, BUT was soon distracted by the start of the Sheffield Wednesday game. Squirrel went and sat down with the two females from the agency, BUT the lack of sleep and food, mixed with the double figures amount of Stella, meant he found himself desperately needed fresh air. Twenty minutes later he found himself awake on the table outside, he rushed back in to find the females, and all his possessions missing, however Hopalong had them (the belongings, not the females unfortunately) at the other side of the pub. They watched the end of the football, before Hopalong managed to upset Wes's missis, and Wes managed to have an argument with one of his housemates. Hopalong and Squirrel then moved on to Jabez (Squirrel's first ever visit), before leaving and going for a curry. Saturday saw an early start with the Liverpool Vs Man Unt game having a 12.30 kick-off. Hopalong and Squirrel watched the first half in the Friendship, before being summoned to the Drop Inn by Little Mark for the second half. More football and many more beers followed, and a meeting with Planty and his mates. After reaching double figures, Squirrel, Hopalong and Little Mark got a taxi to Scubar, where shooters, gold fish bowls, cocktails and pints ended up with Little Mark having to take a pit stop to puke. Then they crashed an 18^th birthday party downstairs before departing to make their way to Jabez, where even more alcohol was consumed before miraculously arriving at their respective houses. Midday Sunday saw Squirrel knocking on Hopalong's door armed with a crate of Becks to go with the Crate brought the previous day. He then forced Hopalong to drink for the remainder of the day and into the early hours of Monday morning, whilst watching DVD’s and being introduced to the delights of Snatch, before getting a taxi home at 3 in the morning. Sunday didn't smile so well on Little Mark who had a lunch meeting with his missis and her parents in a posh Chinese restaurant. He only just managed to make it to the toilet before puking, obviously suffering from his heroic efforts to keep up with Squirrel and Hopalong (heroic considering he's half the size of them) drink for drink (and managing it) the previous day. Monday morning saw Squirrel in the bar at Victoria waiting for Little Mark to turn up so that they could get the train to Blackburn, when he eventually arrived they'd missed the planned train and were late meeting Bruce in Blackburn. Straight to the pub for the Tottenham Vs Leeds game, and then a pub crawl up to Ewood Park for the Evening's game. After a piss poor Saints performance it was back to Blackburn station for a beer and the train back to Manchester, and the end of a tip top weekend of carnage.

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