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Birmingham. Beers. And silliness.

Oh my lordy, why do I never learn.

Yesterday was a brilliaant afternoon.

I caught the train down to Brum and got there at about 12.30.

Blimey it was busy!

Walking up through town was good. I worked there many years ago and still have a real love for the place, the silly accent, and jolly outlook.

The lads – all of us old timers now, were meeting in O’Neills on Broad Street which is the dreadful clubbing street that every big town has.

Beer at just past noon isn’t my scene, but the first one slipped down well, as did the second, third, and many more.

There were a group of Irish lads behind us drinking funny looking drinks from funny looking glasses like this: (hopefully I’ll remember to pop the photo in here when I can find my phone again).

So being the daft old farts that we are I went to the bar and said – we’ll have four of what they’re drinking. I’m probably the oldest person the girl has ever sold a VRB, or vodka red bull as I now know its called, to.

They just slipped down our throats. As did the next ones and the ones after that. Yet, miraculously we didn’t. I guess it was the intense conversation that kept us going as I reckon I feel asleep within minutes of sitting on the train home.

I didn’t feel too great today – but then it is a long while since I’ve had 7 pints, and I have never had four VRBs!

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