A quiet burger and a chat turns into a memorable night out for Kevin Page and his mate. Photo / 123rf
OPINION
It’s been a fair while since I’ve had a big night out.
Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy time with friends, maybe even a curry and accompanying beverage with my golf mates on the first night of the annual golf trip. But these days a comfy couch in front of the telly seems to win more times than it loses when it comes to the decision-making process.
That’s not to say that all my long-time mates are the same. Some, in fact, are still out way past my bedtime on a regular basis and showing no signs of slowing down.
The Scottish Plumber, for instance, has been known to go well into the small hours if the chat is to his liking.
This is no surprise to many of us who’ve known him for decades and recall a Thursday evening many years ago when we departed the closing football club around 10.30pm and left him in the car park discussing the finer points of wing play with a fellow chatterbox. At 6.30am the next day the pair were spotted by one of the lads on his way to work, still standing by their cars yakking away.
Amusingly, these days it is me who sometimes ends up picking up The Scottish Plumber. I say amusingly because it all seems to have come full circle.
We’ve both been through that time where we were the Dad Taxi for our teenage girls. We’ve both also had our moments when our teenage girls have come to pick us up. One particular ride home saw our girls, who are very close, sitting in the front seats lecturing us both on the dangers of drink and pub-going as we sat in the back giggling and they threatened to ground us if we didn’t take them seriously.
The other Saturday night there I was, pulling a late one in front of the telly past midnight, when I got a text message. Previously organised transportation had fallen over and The Scottish Plumber needed a ride home.
Now, I’m thinking somewhere in times gone by I must have said “any time” as I’d dropped The Scottish Plumber home and he’d decided any time meant exactly that.
I wasn’t too worried. It would be an adventure. It’s usually fun hearing what he’s been up to. As I say, he enjoys a chat like me so it would be extremely unlikely there wouldn’t be an amusing anecdote to keep us occupied.
I was right. As he poured himself into the front seat, my passenger couldn’t contain his excitement. Plus, he said, it was a tale best accompanied by some late-night nutrition. Could we stop by that place we always used to go to? You know, the one that had those great mushrooms.
I was pretty sure that place closed about 30 years ago and it was in another town we often visited, but I did recall the mushrooms were a delight with thick, creamy garlic gravy. As you ambled to the taxi rank scoffing away from your little pot of mushrooms you could tell who else had been there before you in the queue. The majority had gravy dribbles down the front of their shirts.
This particular night I found a burger bar so we took out a small mortgage and bought two giant ones with everything. And fries. Obviously. We might be a lot older these days but we still enjoy good cuisine. Ahem.
As we sat in the car and ate, The Scottish Plumber forgot his latest tale and started to reminisce of a time when we’d sat in just about this same spot and watched a drama unfold in front of us.
That night the taxi rank was full so we’d taken our mushrooms a little further down the street and sat on a bench on the corner to eat and wait for the line to shrink.
As we did so, all hell broke loose at the pub across the road. A chair flew through the glass window, quickly followed by a nimble chap who regained his feet on the pavement outside just as two other blokes came charging out through the main entry. The three of them then stood slugging it out before more participants arrived from inside.
The Scottish Plumber and I ate our mushrooms and watched on from the best seats in the house as more and more people joined the fracas.
There was a girl with a handkerchief for a dress. Her drunk, extremely loud female friend. A bloke with a pool cue. The mandatory older, sensible person trying to stop it and eventually three or four policemen in three police cars with flashing lights and a sense of urgency. Gripping stuff indeed.
Eventually, we finished our mushrooms, the fight ended and we all went home. Us to our beds and the participants of the brawl presumably to a police cell.
But it was memorable to say the least. And for one who was fairly well, shall we say, “hydrated” The Scottish Plumber impressively recalled a lot of the detail about that night all those years ago.
As we sat eating, remembering and laughing, a small gaggle of pubgoers, obviously in high spirits, made its way past.
One young lady wearing a handkerchief for a dress - she may have been the daughter of the girl we’d seen 30-odd years earlier - turned up the volume and began berating another of the group who, I believe it is safe to assume, was her boyfriend. As a result of what came next, I believe it is safe to assume that he is no longer her boyfriend today.
So, there we are watching this procession and all of a sudden she screams at him and throws something. I have to say I’m unsure what it was and as she was wearing only a handkerchief for a dress I doubt she could have hidden anything anywhere. Regardless, something flew at him causing him to duck.
At this point, the Helpful Friend got involved. There’s always one isn’t there.
But Screaming Girl was having none of it and despite the attempts of others in the group to protect the hapless target of her wrath, now ducking and diving around the group, she kept up her attack.
The volume also increased dramatically. So much so The Scottish Plumber took his eye off his burger for a millisecond and a piece of pineapple slipped out and fell between the seat and the middle console. Note to self. Job for tomorrow.
Eventually, all the screaming and general kerfuffle attracted the attention of a passing patrol car and law enforcement calmly stepped in to see what was going on. Unfortunately, this seemed to antagonise Screaming Girl even further and, after numerous attempts to get her to listen to reason, she was taken to the police car to calm down.
At this stage, Helpful Friend morphed into Unhelpful Friend and demanded to know why such action had been taken by the cops who, 10 minutes earlier, were enjoying the quiet night and looking forward to a steak and cheese pie from the 24-hour servo down the road.
I have to say watching police deal with the situation was a study in patience. Helpful Friends must be the bane of their lives.
But anyway, our burgers consumed and the scene showing no sign of anything other than going on loop repeat, The Scottish Plumber and I fired up our trusty steed and headed for home.
I’ve yet to hear his latest fun story. Events somewhat overtook us. We both agreed it had been a memorable end to the night which would only have been improved by a small, historical addition to our viewing experience.
A simple pot of mushrooms with thick, creamy, garlic gravy.
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