Val puts her hand into her bag.
"Glasses!" I exclaim. Though we were on a train to Manchester and I have sand in my shoes and, more worryingly, in my underwear*, I am prepared enough to have Pimms in a can with me.
"And I thought that I'd better bring these" Val pulls out two packets of crisps. She had made me promise that I wouldn't get too drunk before coming to Manchester. I have, I fear, failed entirely.
"Crisps!". It would appear that every sentence I utter has an exclamation mark at the end. It does not bode well.
When we arrive in Manchester it is to a pub which smells vaguely of urine and has graffiti covered toilets. It is safe to say that I do not look exactly part of the furniture. Other than for the fact that I am drunk, in which respect I am entirely at home.
The room for the gig, in the basement, is dark and atmospheric. It does not hide, however, that there are about twenty people here. I could hazard at least a guess at the identity of seventeen of them. I would also guess at the fact that everyone else is around the sober state of consciousness. All it serves is to make me feel more drunk.
When it is Griffin's turn to play we've formed something of a semi-circle around the stage. There being a distinct possibility that I might have someone's eye out with my flailing arm dancing it is somewhat lucky for all concerned that I am on the outer edge of one side.
A couple of songs in there has been very little in way of between song banter. As much as I am all about the music (and the slightly deranged dancing) I am a big fan of the between song banter.
"Are you not talking to us tonight?" I shout.
Griffin rolls his eyes. "I've used it all up".
A song later there is some talk of Griffin signing a poster.
"Surely they're worth more unsigned" explodes from my mouth.
Griffin catches my eye. "One minute she's dancing, the next she's heckling".
Gayle turns to me "You know the random drunk woman at the gig in York?"
I nod, suspecting that I know where this is going.
"Well, tonight that's you!".
Griffin starts singing about chips. It is all too bizarre.
"Now she's going!" Griffin says.
The truth is much more damning. I hold up the glass I have just rescued.
It probably explains a lot.