In light of Saturday being that of the Irish patron saint I decided to go for my weekend bashing of my liver on Friday as to avoid the English pretending to be Irish (something for another occasion but it isn't endearing, don't do it). It was my university's student presidential elections; one of my friends was nominated. What more of an excuse was needed, should he win (which he did) to go and attempt to dance and partake in the traditional celebratory drinks?
Last year I reported from the presidential elections held at the Liverpool Guild of Students and the results were not announced until late on into the night. So with this in mind I took my time, danced around my room whilst selecting a shirt had a quick drink before departing for the bus. It was only when I was on the bus that I received the text reporting that I ought to hurry as they were announcing the results. I was still a good ten minutes from time never mind the walk from the bus stop to the guild. My inherent refusal to run anywhere probably wouldn't help; no one needs to be sweaty before a night out.
Despite this I briskly walked to the guild, entering the main hall and searched for the iridescent orange t-shirts which have had hard working campaigners stationed within them for the last few weeks. They were not to be seen. I scanned the room, looking hurriedly for the group. I was wearing my large woollen jacket and the room was very warm, so I could have ran as now I was excreting sweat at a disproportional rate but I digress.
I did find the group just in time for the announcement that my friend had indeed won the election (well done Paul!) This called for some drinks so I picked up my jacket, which had been abandoned onto the floor and moved into the bar. The drinks began to flow nicely, a few shots, a few beers and I was feeling warmed up. I had struck up a conversation with one of my friends who just so happens to be Norwegian and her friend who hailed from the north east. I hadn't met this person before but I often get on well with people from the north east. I like their human attitude towards life, they accept the follies and indiscretions, they relish in the humour that can be found in any situation. This girl was no exception... and thank god for it.
I charged these two girls into a night out, disregarding their dissertations. It didn’t take much pushing I have to say but I was the motivator in this situation. The decision had been made we were indeed going out but to what end we did not know.
One thing was for sure we could not take out our coats but as we were on foreign ground, this not being our student union we could not leave them here. The fine young lady from the North East (or Mack'um as she will now be referred to in the rest of this blog, although I am aware that it is wrote mackem but I say it with an 'um due to my own East Lancastrian twang) said that we could leave them in her car. A fine idea. No one needs a woolly jacket on a night out. It was a horrendous decision to bring it in the first place. So we decided to wander down to where the car had been parked (behind a Chinese shelter? That’s right I hadn't heard of it either). As we reached the chilled night air, it was now hitting about quarter to twelve at night. It was wet and I mean wet. Norway (as she will be known by) had rather intelligently (and indeed somewhat stereotypically) brought a coat, Mack'um had not.
Like a true gent, I'm sure you will agree, I offered up my own coat. She would lend me the space in the car for the coat so she could wear it. I have to admit it was raining heavier than I anticipated regardless of the fact that Mack'um was saying it was making her dress go see through (I, myself could not see the issue with this but... who am I to judge?)
It was pissing it down. This is the only description I could possibly give. The monsoon season had arrived in Liverpool and I was caught in it. The consistent downpour actually didn’t sober me up but emphasised my drunken expressions.
There was to be hope though; Mack'um said that a cut through cathedral campus was the sensible option. I agreed through my dripping hair, which was sporting a now depreciated quiff and although my alcohol based coat was doing me well, I was beginning to become tired of the water God had provided me with.
What was to follow will be forever known as the ordeal...
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