Shut Up Marv!… Shut Up!

Yesterday I wrote of a trip to the north east of England twelve months ago; an evocation courtesy of our social media overlord Facebook, via their ‘On This Day’ application.

Over the last few years Mark Zuckerburg’s baby has provided me with the opportunity to exhibit jokes and life scenarios of varying humour levels, providing a welcome escape from less engaging elements of my existence.

Today the same application brought forth a picture, also from a year ago, of my brother Ian and I the day after our previous evenings festive sojourn with five friends around Newcastle pubs.

It’s not a flattering picture of my younger sibling and me who, being layered up against the bracing chill wind emanating from the river Tyne, had a look of burglars Marv and Harry from the movie ‘Home Alone’.

If memory serves me correct, the picture was taken inside the Centurion pub at Newcastle railway station, having a beer before my train back to Leeds.

Bearing in mind that we’d just made a bungled and painful attempt at burgling Macauley Culkin’s house, whose parents were holidaying in Byker, I’m surprised our Ian and I look so happy in the picture.

Perhaps we appear jolly because we’d escaped relatively unharmed from the whole hapless episode……. Although, I suspect its more likely our joviality was the result of having beer…… Ian looks a great deal happier than me so I suspect he was less hungover at that time.

Sat warming in the pub, we chatted about the previous evenings get together, where we caught up with engaging individuals who I’d personally not seen for around six months. The talk was of music, football and how the hell we could get our Ian to stop drinking so fast…….. That’s an open question by the way, as one year on we are still struggling for a solution to that little conundrum.

Personally, I’ve given up trying to rein my brother in. I prefer to spend my energy more productively, like trying to find a college that teaches the language our Ian uses when he’s bladdered. If I can become accustomed with that, then at least I could still have a meaningful conversation with him after 10pm on a night out.

Who knows, the burglary of Macaulay’s house may have gone a great deal more successfully if we hadn’t planned the break in strategy at 10.30pm the previous evening in the Bridge pub!

Incidentally, I have exaggerated the amount my sibling drinks to add a more light hearted slant to this narrative. He is a top guy, who has many qualities I wish I had been blessed with. Regretfully, the skill of effective house breaking wasn’t one of them!

Prior to my train departure, I had a challenging hour chatting with my bro. As I sat there with a steam iron burn on my forehead and covered with remnants of gloss paint sabotage administered by Macaulay, Ian looked disorientated and confused……. He was either feeling the after affects of the electric shock received during the failed break in, or the beer was kicking in!

One year ago today, I boarded my train back to Leeds after an agreeable weekend break with mates. As I took my seat in carriage C, I looked out at my younger sibling who was weeping on the platform.

I text him saying not to get too upset I’m going back home as I’d see him soon. He immediately text back to say he wasn’t upset about me leaving, he was crying because the Centurion pub had run out of Tuborg beer!

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