The Importance Of Close Friends

I don’t get to go out on the town with the lads these days as much as I should. Our collective bunch of guys have known each other for over fifteen years with a few of us going back twenty. Back in those halcyon days things were less complicated, no mortgages to worry about and no family to sap our very limited incomes. We had just about finished college and it was our mission to go out into the streets of Brighton and drink, dance and chat up the girls (with varying results). Partying most days of the week was not a problem back then and we always promised that we would stay in touch and keep up our social lives as much as we could.

But that was many moons ago and we have all grown up and had families, now we have responsibilities. Mortgages, council tax,  never-ending fuel price rises and exorbitant food costs now take up our hard earned cash leaving very little disposable income, and even if we could afford to hit the town every week I just don’t have the longevity or passion for such punishment. How many of us family men look forward to just chilling out at home at the weekend with a couple of tinnies and a good movie? When I hear my work colleagues planning their weekend, I just smile inwardly, reminisce for awhile and then look forward to settling in like an old boy complete with slippers. So when the opportunity comes around for a vintage boys night out with the old crew I always look forward to it, and that’s exactly what happened last night. For weeks I have been communicating to and fro with my buddies via Facebook and Email to get us all out together before Christmas and it was a pretty good turn out.

So we all meet up at our first port of call, no doubt noticing how we have all put on a couple of pounds (except the Ramdog), gained a few wrinkles (even the Ramdog) and lost a little more hair (no comment) except for me who went out with a freshly shaved Slaphead, and straight away we slipped back to our old comfortable ways as if we were a regular Friday night crew. But instead of chatting up the poor unsuspecting young ladies (that’s what I call them these days) our conversations were about our children, outgoings, the current economic crisis, and talking about the “good old days”.

Then at around 11pm, myself and my longest serving mate decided that we had had enough and, happily sozzled, we said our goodbyes (you know the routine, big bear hugs and lots of man love and promises of getting out more) and walked over Shoreham footbridge gassing on about how we’d had such a great time, we waited ten minutes for a Taxi in the freezing cold and I got home around midnight, just a little drunk and having a bloody good night out.

So I guess I’m writing this post to say how luck I am. I spent my formative years with this fantastic group of  friends and they are all so very dear to me, and even though we don’t see each other as often as we should, when we do its just like old times and I cherish every night out. So if any of these chaps ever read this post, I bloody love you all and thanks for a superb night out.


4 Responses

  1. Soppy bollocks

  2. aren’t you a lucky bo then, I never get any comments on my blogs. You write some daft girly drivel and up come two insults straight away, “you lucky, lucky bastard, oh what I’d give to be spat at!” “nice one centurian”

  3. cor yeah hasnt everyone aged??!! OMG that means me aswell most probably!

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