A Day In The Scarlett Life…

So, my newest project; Drink in Liverpool has launched!

I can’t speak for my partner in crime; OSB, (I wouldn’t fucking dare, she’s got a cosh and she knows how to use it) but I feel like a new mum seeing our brain-child finally up and running.

We’ve been working tirelessly to create Liverpool’s most fabulous nightlife guide – which is a hard graft considering both of us have undiagnosed adult ADD – and I can’t even tell how many bottles of Prosecco have been sacrificed in the process.

Research of course, darling.

Now, it turns out, drinking Prosecco by the pint is an expensive pastime – so the tale I’m going to tell today took place a couple of weeks ago, when we decided to take our very important and serious business meeting to a little pub in Liverpool called Slater’s, where the men are bald, the drinks are cheap and the likelihood that you’re going to scream ‘Run da Werld’ into the karaoke before passing out in the cab home rises by 60% on entry… 

liverpool nightlife

We started our meeting as most professionals do; with a pitcher of Sangria and two packets of big-eat crisps… all for under £7.50. Now, this is very relevant information for two reasons; 

1) it highlights the fact we were (at least) a pitcher of sangria down before 8pm and 

2) a pitcher of sangria for £6 is always relevant information.

So there we sat, talking about business, (drinking sangria) talking about gobshites, (drinking sangria) until eventually it seemed like the greatest idea in the world to make a night of it.

We decided to head to a sports bar called Shooters.

Now I doubt many of you have been have been to Shooters in Liverpool on a Thursday night, but basically it was packed. 90% of the clientele were lads playing pool and 10% girls draped over the pool tables trying to pull.

What’s the opposite of subtle?

Anyway there we were, wondering (as I’m sure most people do) where the fuck you’re meant to put your feet when you’re sat on a bar stool, when OSB nods at the old fella sat opposite us and goes, “ey go and talk to him, we’ll take him across to the Bierkeller with us when we go in.” 

“Hiyaaa” I said, scooting round the table so I was uncomfortably close to him and could really see the ‘why are these mad bitches speaking to me when I’m trying to watch the footy’ in his eyes, “got any jokes?”

I have absolutely no idea why I asked him if he knew any jokes. Probably because of the same horrible reflex reaction that makes me turn into some sort of weird comedian that says ‘bro’ a lot when I’m around very attractive people.

Shockingly he seemed un-phased and said;

“Yeah. So two fellas are sat on the train. One’s got a bag of rabbits. The other one goes to him, ‘if I can guess how many rabbits in the bag, can I have one?’ and the other fella replied, ‘if you can guess how many rabbits are in the bag you can have BOTH of them.”

At that point, OSB and myself, (who I have to stress were at least a pitcher of Sangria, and two double vodkas down on an empty stomach) fell about laughing at this distinctly mundane joke and had a telepathic conversation that went something like, “God he’s the funniest man that’s ever walked the planet”, “I know, let’s ask him to write for Drink in Liverpool!”.

For the next twenty minutes we pitched to him. We pitched harder than we’ve ever pitched before. By the time we’d finished Richard Branson himself would have quit Virgin, moved to Liverpool and joined the team.

When we finally finished there was a silence – he was obviously processing what an amazing offer he’d just received.

After about a minute he cleared his throat and said, “ahhh, erm, your new newspaper-thingy sounds great an all, girls. But I live in Kuala Lumpur. I’m only here for the weekend. Nice one though.”

So I’m sad to say that ‘random bloke from Shooters’ won’t be joining Drink in Liverpool as a staff writer. But the good news is that we have put together an absolutely amazing and hilarious team who will be spilling the secrets of Liverpool’s night scene to help you plan the perfect night out, whatever type of night you’re after. 

 Until next time…

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