An inventory of the weekend.
Plum sightings - seven.
Plum sightings by me - none, despite Dave's best efforts. I did, however, see a grainy photo of Johnny's on (I think) Owen's mobile.
Pub bannisters divorced from the fixings - One. Well done to Matt.
Buskers sung with - One. Again Matt with a glorious rendition of 'In My Life' on Saturday night.
Burgers - One.
Hot-dogs - One, shared drunkenly between myself, Johnny and Billy.
Car parks visited - One by the lads on Friday. They were there for drinking, and not dogging (or so they claim).
Sea hags kissed - One, again not by me. I kept Cassius well tucked up (again, despite Dave's best efforts).
Drinks drunk - 1,343.
It was a dinger of a weekend was Johnny's stag there in Liverpool. A DINGER. We drank from 6.30 in Dublin Airport on Friday morning until the plane home, where I force fed the groom one last can of Carlsberg served out by the Sky Clowns.
Between there were pubs visited from the Baltic Fleet to the Goose At The Queens to the Ibis Bar to the First National for the match, The Cavern Club (while I deposited myself in the pub of the same name earlier in the day), Jamie Carragher's restaurant, some Irish ex-pat place called The Liffey, another random drinkery with Richie and Dave on Friday night and the Hogshead.
None of those names will mean anything to my female readership, but given that all my mail subscribers were with me (5X and Ollie aside), they'll know.
Of course, the weekend was made up of all sorts of ridiculousness, bare asses and bras (well just one procured from Deccie, and heaven knows where he came across it), but I can't do it justice here. Photos will likely emerge in time.
One thing though, at every turn is a Beatles song or photo. "OK, we get it, they sang songs and came from Liverpool," I was caused to remark to Johnny when passing through customs.