IT'S not smart, and it's not clever ... but me and the girls from New Brighton got hog-whimpering drunk together in Liverpool yesterday afternoon and into the evening (Sun 4 Feb).
Eeeh, but we did have a good time ... as folk used to say.
And I for one needed to have a good "Leo", as I'd been feeling slightly down in the dumps of late (again).
Nothing to worry about, mind. It's just that I occasionally get into the sort of state that Paul Weller sang about so memorably in 'Paris Match'.
You know the line.... "I'm only sad in a natural way, and I enjoy sometimes feeling this way... I get so restless and bored... etc"
Anyway, Sunday's booze-a-thon was carried out under the terms of my new policy of going out socially with the girls at least once a week.
And what a bevvy of beauties I found myself in company with in the baroque splendour of the ballroom at The Vines in the city centre.

Yes, it was a big turn out for the female half of the New Brighton Massive - Tallulah Swells, the Bacardi Queen, Delilah Durham, Shula Bombshell, Mandy Mobiles (who can light up a room with her smile) and Katy Bobs, who doesn't drink but doesn't seem to need to either.
There were two lads from New Brighton with us too - Viktor and Curly Wurzly.
There was a live band on, singing Four Tops numbers and Motown and Stax crowd-pleasers from the 1960s. I think the band - all white guys though they were moving like black soul bands used to in the 60s - called themselves Detroit, which seems appropriate.
Mind you, and mainly because of where we were sat, at the side of the stage, I spent most of the time looking out at the audience rather than at the band.
Looking out across that sea of happy faces (hardly anyone was aged under 40, no-one wore trackies or sneakers but instead were smartly and glamorously dressed) it made me feel glad to be living within the orbit of such a great, soulful city of Liverpool.
Thinking about it, the throb of humanity in the Vine's ballroom was like a scene from a 1960s film. I can imagine the women in there wearing duster coats and with their hair up in beehives, and the men wearing narrow lapel suits and narrow knitted ties, like Albert Finney in Saturday Night, Sunday Morning, or my late dad in the jazz clubs of South Lancs as a young man.
In truth, I have always liked Liverpool, and so has my sister, Princess Stephanie of Wigan.
Unlike most Wiganers, me and her always looked to Liverpool rather than Manchester as "our" local big city.
About teatime yesterday, we moved on to little Coopers near Central Station, where I was intrigued to meet a woman who resembled that American creature known as "The Bride of Wilderstein"; you know, her who had too much cosmetic surgery. And the strangest thing is I found the woman weirdly attractive ...
The Wilderstein woman said she would join the Massive at our next bar, the Liverpool, near James Street station, but I don't think she ever made it.
We went upstairs at the Liverpool where there are twinkly lights, a mirrorball and live music from the really fantastic soul and funk singer, Marvin Ruffin (yes, he's the cousin of Jimmy and David Ruffin, apparently).
Marvin is such an infectious singer that me and the girls, and Curly Wurzly (who is a very good dancer), just had to hit those maple-sprung boards.
Mr Ruffin gave the Massive a mention from the stage, which was nice of him, and we also got the karaoke-meister at Little Coopers to big us up over his microphone. Big beers, big cheers all round.
At somepoint, Alberre joined us in Liverpool, but he wasn't drinking much because the following day he faced a long journey out to Arabia where he works on the rigs.
Anyway, I was well and truly feeling the funk in the Liverpool, if you know what I mean, so I was gliding all over the dance floor and jiggling my arse rather in the manner of the gorgeous black girls in micro-hot pants you see in rap videos on MTV.
I know, I know, it must have been the most repulsive sight since, er, well the previous day, when Shadrack off Emmerdale sang "Horny, Horny, Horny" on Harry Hill's TV Burp.
Anyway, it was a top day out and we finished off by returning to New Brighton at about 10pm listening to Popstar Paul and Cookie (or Biscuit, as he sometimes get called) in the Shallow Cutting.
Then some of us went into Hell's Waiting Room for the last knockings. Duncan Kindlyface joined us there, I think, but I'm afraid by that time I was three sheets to the wind and can't remember anything much.

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