The Bramble Beavers

Another weekend in The Burgh with Grumpy Scot, The Blonde and The Geordie. This time for long-awaited Hot Chip gig that we booked ages ago. I wasn't sure my wallet or liver could take it after last time, but since I'm always up for a challenge, I dutifully boarded the train (with a well-packed suitcase this time, instead of my usual shambolic tipsy packing) and settled down for scenic four hour ride up England.

I'm not sure if I emit some sort of oddball-beacon only recognised by those with social/learning/general mental difficulties; or whether I inadvertantly book travel tickets through a system that contains a secret filter with a hidden 'tick this box if you want to be unnerved by a freak for your journey', but I generally get sat next to mentals.

I'm sat on my seat at the table, browsing Facebook on my laptop, when we stop at Peterborough. Passengers shuffled on and off the train, I am pretty much ignoring everyone and blasting out the new Yeasayers album in my earphones. Suddenly, a woman in her late forties announces The Blonde's full name very loudly. I take out my earphones and not understanding what she means or knowing why she has just said my friend's name loudly, I ask, "....WHAT?"

She stands next to the table, packing up her cagoul and putting her rambler's rucksack in the luggage rack above our heads while her husband gets himself into the window seat opposite me at the table, and nods at my Facebook page.

"The Blonde. [She said her full real name, obviously] I'm one too, same surname."

I am baffled: "Oh. Right. Do you know The Blonde then, are you related?"

Mad Woman: "No."

Me: "....Right."

A couple of things here I need to say. Firstly, yes I might well be looking at my Facebook on public transport, but don't have a good gawp at my newsfeed page then bloody comment on it. Secondly, if you are going to comment on it, have something constructive to say. Not something bonkers and conversationally a cul-de-sac.

I knew this funny couple were going to be entertaining. During the journey I watched them have a conversation involving lots of miming because they both had their iPod earphones in. Take your earphones out. They then unpacked their little packed lunches and ate in unison. I was particularly disturbed when the starey-eyed Mad Woman maintained eye contact for longer than socially acceptable unless you're about to seduce/murder someone. I got a bit itchy and slightly concerned when her and the husband then watched each other eat Wotsits in slow synchronicity. I mentally clocked where the guard was likely to be, and weighed up again the possibilities of using a Dell laptop as a defensive weapon.

Just to up the crazy rating a little more, a middle-aged lady came and sat with us at York. She was thin and dour and part of me took a little pleasure in knowing that she was able to see my Facebook and Twitter pages, both rather sweary. She settled down, popped on her reading glasses and began to copy out passages from the Bible. Part of me toyed with the idea of starting a Dawkins-style evolutionary debate with her, or making a call on my mobile to the Grumpy Scot and telling him 'I believe in Science.' I refrained though. She then proceeded to eat from two tupperware containers, one containing plain brown rice and one containing boiled celery. I wanted to start a party for her there and then.

Finally, I reached Edinburgh without having been preached to or chopped up into little bits by the mad people. After dropping my stuff off at the flat, The Blonde and The Geordie and I went out for lunch. We discussed The Geordie's new job and how the interview went.

"Aye, it was a short interview. They basically didn't give me chance to fuck it up."

We wandered about in the city and saw that since it was Valentine's weekend, poetry was going to be projected onto the castle during the evening, and there was some sort of poem treasure hunt in a square. The Blonde and I casually said that this was rather nice and maybe we should go along. The Geordie gave his usual cultural critique.

"Sounds gay."

We ventured out for the evening a bit later on, 'just for a quiet one' since the main night was going to be busting some moves to Hot Chip on the Saturday night. We had pleasant drinks in Hectors and went on to eat at a simple, chic Italian restaurant which does great food, Amore Dogs. (Though prior to the first time we visited, I'd asked The Blonde where we were going for tea. When she'd said 'Dogs' I thought we were going to eat a pie while watching a greyhound chase a dummy rabbit.) I was naughty and had dessert, and promptly fell in love with both the sexy waiter and the white chocolate and orange semifreddo. Yum.

The Blonde was trying to persuade me to go to an 80s night, but I was tired and said no, let's just go for one more quiet drink somewhere. Quite by chance, we chose Bramble 'for a quick cocktail'. It was a cool underground bar with a nice mix of people in, and not too hot and packed as cellar bars can sometimes be. They had a DJ who was playing some brilliant old-school hiphop, Bowie, dub, Beastie Boys and electro. We decided to 'just stay for one more'. This turned into inviting Grumpy Scot and some of his friends to come and meet us and enjoy such cocktails as The Saint and some concoction involving 15 year vintage malt that The Blonde had.

The Geordie: "You look happy. Is it because you had a fifteen year old in your mouth?"

By this time we'd bagged ourselves a little vaulted room with benches and cushions and were all getting on down to such treats as Amerie's One Thing and Stay Just a Little Bit Longer from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Not to mention the photographic evidence of The Blonde and I totally busting it to MC Hammer. Yes, we're cool. And we know it.

We'd happily hit our cocktail/vodka drinking stride, maybe too happily. Drinks were going down very quickly.

Me: "I don't know where my drink is going."

The Geordie: "I know, mine too. It's those bloody Bramble Beavers, they keep stealing our cocktails!"

Me: "Little shits!"

The Geordie: "What is weird is that they're also helping themselves to the same cash equivalent from my wallet.... Toothy twats!"

It was about this point that The Blonde slipped backwards down a small step, recovered and tried to look nonchalant like it never happened. The best part was that we all saw it. And laughed.

Our 'one drink' had turned into the bar no longer serving as it was gone 2am so we trundled back down the hill to Stockbridge for a little nightcap while watching the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics. I found it dull but The Geordie stayed up until 5am. I left the room for bed, humming the Blame Canada song from Southpark: The Movie.