Boxing Day madness. That’s the only explanation for the hordes of shoppers queuing for the sales. 15,000 very sad people were waiting outside the Trafford Centre at 9am and the queue for Next had apparently formed at 3.30am. I have it on good authority that there were even people waiting for Bury’s Argos to open, despite its sales being described by an insider as “pants”.
What’s wrong with these people? Apart from having no life, don’t they realise that Boxing Day is meant to be spent in the pub. Come to think of it, that could be said of most, if not every, day, but certainly Boxing Day is a traditional drinking holiday, despite the outdated British transport system.
With this tradition firmly in mind, it was time for me and Eddie, the eager, legal beagle to pay our respects. With the Manx Minx occupied in her native land with the annual Gruffalo hunt, Eddie was a free agent, although she had cast the usual Manx spells to ensure he would (eventually), return home.
The frolics kicked off in the Robert Peel with several pints of some rather fine George Wright Pure Blonde. Eddie’s personal chauffeur then duly appeared and whisked us away to the Lamb on Tottington Road where more excellent George Wright-Pipedream-awaited us.
Eventually I found myself enjoying a late night drink in the Trackside with Pineapple Pete. York Three Kings seemed fittingly Christmas like and certainly was full of spices. The star of the show, however, was Leyden Brown Ale. It could have been: an exciting recreation of a forgotten genre of beer-the strong brown ale-using the finest ingredients and carefully brewed. It was: brown dishwater.