First of all, I'd like to thank Chad Philips for the use of his camera for the night. Although chad's camera wasn't cheap, I didn't want to lug round my stupidly sized semi-pro beast (it's not insured for being dropped in beer)

This is Chad's hand. It is also the first picture he took to show me how to use his camera. As it turns out, this is his left hand. I've known Chad since secondary school, and I sat next to him in many a class. Together in class, we have endured food fights, food sneaking, choking (he saved my life during maths when I choked on a 'Club' chocolate biscuit) and various other randomness. Through all of this, I still don't know whether he is right or left handed. Anyway, this is his left hand.

First Pub - The Claregate. It's about 9pm and Chad and Dave are already halfway through their first pint. I order mine and play catch up.

Just to let you know, Chad is on the left and Dave is on the right.

I've known Dave for a few years now. He was introduced to me by Chad. I can't remember where Chad knew him from - I'm still hungover from last night and my memory cells are still asleep. Sorry

Due to a very distinct lack of ladies in the bar (well, a distinct lack of anybody really), we turned our attention to a little electronic box pushed against the wall. It caught our attention with promises of fortune and power. A whole twenty-five British pounds were up for grabs and all we had to do was press a couple of buttons in the right order. How hard could it be?

At a risk of losing my dollar, I did not succumb to it's all-singing, all-dancing flashy-light routine and spinning wheels. Instead, I stepped back and took pictures of Chad and Dave losing their money.

My favourite beer - Banks's bitter. Oh, how I have missed her smooth, velvety taste. I've been out of the country for a year and have missed her beauty so.

Anyway, we're still in The Claregate. It was raining outside so we spent a little longer here than usual because non of us was prepared to get soaked.

The rain had calmed down a bit (it wasn't as angry as it had been) and we're off to our next destination: The Swan.

The Swan is about 1km from the Claregate. It is a slight drop downhill and the terrain was of a tarmac variety.

This is Dave and Chad walking towards me. What else can I say?

The Swan. This bar only gets a visit because the booze is cheap. I have a feeling that it may not get anymore visits though because the beer tastes more like recycled piss than beer. I think the beer is purchased just before it is due to go off and then it is served. The more likely answer is that the beer is not actually beer and more like 'piss'. The landlord probably has a pipe going straight from the urinals down into the cellar and straight into kegs. The piss then gets piped into the bar where it is served to eager customers pursuing a cheap pint. The piss then gets filtered through the public where it is 'pissed' into the urinals and then the whole dirty proces starts again.

I suppose it's a good way to make money though.
Here's a picture of Dave drinking recycled piss, and me, not.

Where's Dave? He's taking the picture. I'm not entirely sure where he's taking it.

This is Chad and Chad leaving the Swan. A lot of people have only met one 'chad' in their life. When the two of us are together, we use our names to our advantage. You can't go wrong with two chads now can you?

Next destination: Mitre Inn

Tucked away down a small lane in tettenhall is the very old Mitre Inn. A couple of years ago, this was your average little 'old' man's pub. It was small and never very busy. It got took over, practically rebuilt and has been extended to make it a 'posh' bar and restaurant out the back. You can guarantee it to be full of pretentious people from this posh bit of town. The lates fashions, the coolest haircuts, the fastest cars and the best jewellry. Then me, Chad and Dave went in.

In all honesty, I do like it. It's normally got a few posh birds knocking about and a nice bit of skirt to look at.

Me, in the Mitre Inn. Me and Chad had a confusing moment in the bar because both of our pints looked, tasted and smelt the same. I was drinking Banks's Bitter and he was drinking Old Speckled Hen.
Hmmmm, me thinks some kind of 'dodgy' labelling going on here. What we should of done was get them back to the lab for immediate testing. The trouble was, we didn't have a lab, a car to get back to the lab or anything to test them with. Chad sort of decided who's was who's by consuming half of each and then gave me the small one.

Our third pub and we had consumed a few pints each by now. Not long before the reality of the steady drinker kicks in - you start feeling pissed....

You might need to adjust your computer screen to see this, but there is a short bird on the right.

Why did I take this picture? Chad has got a thing for short women (although I suspect this was a girl of around 17). He is currently in a relationship with Jackie (think that's how you spell it) and has been for a while. He loves her dearly, but there's nowt wrong with a bit of window shopping is there? Like most men, it's easy to get fixated on something you can't and will never have. It's nice to look though.

Just as an excuse for me to talk to one of the fit waitresses, I asked to borrow the pepper grinder. We had no plans of using it in our beer, we just wanted to use it.

This is Chad with it.

The original idea was to get the girl to hold the grinder in a particular way and then take a pic. She declined, for obvious reasons. We were three, sad old men to her in their late twenties. To us, she was our ultimate dream and desire. She was our obsession. We are sad, 20-somethings with nothing better to do than mess about with restaurant utensils.

We were also using our alcohol-absorbing sponge-like brains to make our decisions though - we didn't give a toss.

As you've probably guessed, this is one of those 'lets pretend i'm taking a photo of you two, when i'm really taking a picture of that blonde bird's arse' moments. I had opted to take home the one on the left with the beautiful arse, where Chad had already plugged for the short one. Unfortunately, Dave would be left with the barman. I really have to stop my imagination running away like this.

Next bar - The Rock

Again, our lust for girls who are a clear 10 years younger than us takes place in The Rock. I think this girl was called Holly. I thought she was fit and we got a picture with her. She works here so I may be back next week for a bit of unofficial stalking. Another pint of Stella for Dave and another pint of Banks's for me.

The Rock is so-called because it is on 'The Rock'. The Rock is basically a Sandstone hill in the middle of Tettenhall and nearly gave me a heart attack walking to the top of it. It offers views of Wolverhampton city centre from afar but because it was dark, it wasn't really worth taking a picture of streetlights and cars.

Damn combination of beer and flashing lights. I still refused to play and win the chance of losing my money.

Mental note: Do some exercise to deplete the volume of my man breasts. And get a hair cut.

Us leaving The Rock.

The white speckles on the picture are not the result of Chad's excitement at the prospect of taking a picture - it was still raining and we had our longest walk yet - to The Dog & Gun and beyond...

When i'm in Wolverhampton, this is my local. It's about 3 miles or so from my house and borders the urban area and the countryside. I can't actually call it local, but it's where I go on a regular basis, so I guess I'll have to coin a new term and call it my 'regular'.

Dave, still on his wife-beating stella artois.

Ginger Chad in the Dog & Gun.

It's hard to tell, but you can just make out his eyes are glazed over. The look of an axe-murderer is also a small signal that we'd had a few pints.

The night was drawing in for us. Although the law has just recently changed and pubs can now open all night if they want to, this one has last orders at midnight. As I said at the beginning, this was never going to be a long night out ending with a club, strip club or brothel - just an ordinary 'quiet' pint. Or ten.

If it's you reading this, I'm sorry, I can't remember you're names. My braincells are still wet with alcohol and still a bit spoinge-like. Sorry.

I do know, however, that the girl and the guy know Chad and Dave.

If anybody does know who these people are, email me and let me know!

This is the point where everybody realised they all had the same phone. Not too sure what it's called, but it's the new Motorola one. The one that's about as wide as my penis and half as long. Unlike my penis, it is flat.

Four people in the same bar, with the same phone and inhaling the same smoke-filled air - what are the odds eh, what are the odds?

The last pint before we all went home and got tucked into bed by mumsy.

At some point after this photo, Dave vanished and hopped into a taxi outside (he lives out in another village).

Chad and I decided to walk back to his and I ordered a taxi from his house. It was still damp and we had drank our share for the night.

My taxi arrived in good time and I wave a fond farewell to my ginger pube-bearing Chad.

It turns out that my dad is the taxi driver. Well, I already knew that because he said he'd pick me up to avoid any drink-driving of any sort from me.

So that was the end of our Friday night binge-drinking session. Until next time...