An Aubergine Pub Crawl

(Pictures courtesy of Tom Evans' Cosmopolitan digital makeover kit, click on them for a larger, though not much clearer version)

It was a stupid idea. But all the best plans come from stupid ideas. We would never have achieved anything if people were not to carry through stupid ideas. Imagine when the first caveman discovered fire, where would we be today if he had listened to all his mates saying 'That's bloody dangerous, all it's good for is setting fire to your extensive chest hair' - and had then given up. Possibly it would be safer to be in Tom Day's company, but we would never have got electricity and then I should not be able to avoid working by sending millions of annoying emails and writing stuff like this. So, OK, maybe not a wholly bad thing - but the point still stands.

Anyway - with the Commodore's challenge being so invitingly weird this year, and with everyone being gripped in a fit of inexplicable aubergine mania, the aubergine pub-crawl was born. The term pub-crawl is a bit of a misnomer as I have never yet actually crawled one, nor do I know of anyone who has. Indeed, if you were to be unable to walk then the likelihood of actually being allowed into the next pub is about that of a bored member of the WI getting into a meeting of mafia dons; come to think of it, given the temperament of your average member of the WI - it's probably quite a lot less. However, given the logistics this was definitely not a crawl, or if you were to try and crawl you would have been well advised to have the knees of your trousers reinforced with Kevlar first. The major problem was that in Cambridge's 180 odd pubs there are only two Us, both unicorns, and both some distance out of town. There are even fewer Is or Ns - to the extent that there aren't any. But there is The Sir Isacc Newton, which would have to do.

Of course having a pub-crawl set up does not mean that anyone will actually turn up. Especially as Rich perpetually failed to announce the fact it was happening (I'm kept well away from all facilities for mass emailing - it could result in some from of global meltdown). In fact trying to get Rich to send any form of publicity was rather like trying to get blood out of a stone (not to be confused with getting out blood using a stone, a practice I have subscribed to on many occasions and is quite easy). But in the end, with the working of a minor miracle and the intervention of minor deities from several, not entirely insignificant, religions, the message was sent.

So it was that at some point after midday on a grey and fairly uninspiring Saturday, a little group of renegades, hardened drinkers, and me, gathered in the Alma. This was much to the surprise of the barman, who was obviously not expecting customers at such an early hour and did not like having his expectations overturned in the face of an unpleasant reality (or indeed by some unpleasant faces). Food was generally thought to be a good thing before large amounts of drinking so it was duly ordered, and eaten. Which is of course the proper order of events for, though eating the food before ordering does avoid making mistakes in ordering the wrong food, it is generally considered quite rude. Following the appearance of Jo and Donna we had amassed nine people in the first pub, but then Jon left again, showing a definite lack of staying power.

There was a little disagreement at this point about whether it was bad form to bring a car on a pub-crawl. Still it was there and people used it, fortunately though there is a limiting factor in car usage for pub-crawls, in that it rapidly becomes illegal and then dangerous. Not only that but those using a car missed out on chance to take in a magnificently scenic walk through the suburbs of Cambridge, the delights of which are often missed out on by the casual observer or tourist.

I shall desist from giving a blow-by-blow account of drinking in every pub, as it would be quite dull. Suffice it to say that we got to a pub, bought a drink and then drank it. The steady intake of alcohol at such an early hour caused, in some cases, some fairly rapid inebriation, but that was in some ways the point. We where joined in the Earl of Beaconsfield by Auntie Tish and Simon, or some approximation there of, I'm not good at names, so that could be completely wrong, but never mind. The Auntie bit is a complete red herring as well, intended just to confuse the unwary; there is some sort of reason, but I don't think it stands up to critical analysis.

A little trip up the road took us to the Regal, which is generally just Wetherspoons but was being an R for the purposes of our pub-crawl. I'm not sure about the derivation of the name Wetherspoon, in leaving out either an h or a they create a Joycian ambiguity in meaning as to whether it has something to with the choice of implement for eating or drinking, or whether it refers to some form of strange meteorological device, probably a mistery which will never be satisfatarily solved. Whilst there we partook of one of my usuals, the vanilla ice cream and cinnamon after-shock. The trouble was that a single shot of after-shock is about right to cover a single portion of ice cream, but in order to maintain the pace of two units per pub we had doubles. This results in quite a lot of after-shock being eaten by spoon at the end, but then things could be worse. We could have had none.

Next we headed up to the Granta where we were due to eat and collect some more people. We realised however, at this point that we where actually getting quite well ahead of time. So we decided that we could have a break and introduce a proper I by going to the India Curry House before the next pub. So we did. At this point the award for greatest dedication to drinking must be awarded to Jo who was due to be in London for a meal with her family but phoned them from the Pub to say she wasn't coming and then continued with the pub-crawl. That sort of dedication is impressive, and to be commended.

Tom Day and Jon had both joined us at this point. Tom claimed he was still finishing a course of antibiotics and would have to take things steady, a fact that was conveniently forgotten in less than five minutes. After the Curry the time had come for the first session of rugby that evening, down Queens Road. An unfortunate consequence of this was splitting open the large gash in my hand, which I had just had unstitched, and becoming covered in blood. But these things happen.

Then we headed up to the Issac Newton, for some interesting games of pool and a demonstration of why bringing a car this far on a pub-crawl is not a great plan. I think in retrospect the team of Jo and myself were never destined to win at pool, a combination of inability and incapability left us pretty much without a chance. We gave it a good go all the same, and there was a definite improvement through out. I even remember potting a ball at one point!

We headed down to the elm tree for the final pub and, slightly to the annoyance of the landlord, settled down in the back corner blocking both the (unhelpfully locked anyway) fire exit and the passage to the toilets. Still you can't have everything. Whilst there Becky and a friend I have no recollection of the name of arrived, and everyone from Cherry Hinton left. I think these events where unconnected, though it might be that the name James is hated throughout the outer reaches Cambridge for deeds unknown to me. I have to confess to having missed the finer details of the goings on in the far corner, which was possibly, from what I gather, for the best. All I know is that my crisps kept disappearing in that direction, which was not, I think, the whole story.

I'm not sure why I persuaded people to come back to my room when we left the pub. I must have been drinking or something. Whatever the reason people started making their way across Parkers Piece. This turned out to be quite a slow process with quite a lot of drunken rugby and much mud getting applied to clothing. Still, destroyed clothing is a sure sign of a good night, or a fight. We went for a combination of the two.

On arriving at my room I dispensed whiskey to those wanting it. For some reason we decide to put the Matrix on, it was a slightly bizarre decision in retrospect as no one actual wanted to watch it. It was also surprisingly loud, investigation the next morning showed it to be little short of ear splitting. Fortunately my room has mostly outside walls, but I can only assume the people living up and down stairs are deaf anyway. People slowly drifted away as they decided that staying awake was more challenge than it was worth. Becky gave up and did fall asleep. Then woke up and fell over nothing in particular throwing an unsuspecting pot plant and all it's associated soil across the room. Jo decided against whisky and wanted tea, went to put the kettle on in the kitchen, but obviously discovered something upsetting in the kitchen as she then left. I know it might smell slightly, but I didn't think it was that bad. Maybe I should clean the fridge out.

Anyway, not a bad day really. We should do it again sometime, but next time, find a slightly longer word, and possibly a more exotic setting.