Right! I’ll clear this up from the start. The chapter title is in no way suggesting people should get a good pasting at a Seven by Seven event. Neither do I condone violence of any form. Far from it. This is more a nod to the various states of confusion and inebriation experienced by some attendees (well, me mainly) at some of the gatherings. The heading is taken from a very so-so Fleetwood Mac original as well as a barnstorming version by the Rezillos from their fantastic debut album "Can’t Stand the Rezillos". My uncle actually had the original Rezillos record from 1978 which I would borrow from time to time. It had a squashed dead fly in the centre of the album sleeve which I had always presumed was part of its design.

“Nope.” my uncle told me one time, “It’s been there for 40 years, man and boy. Still dead.”

Anyway, let’s get back to my ramblings about discombobulation at the Wharf Chambers.

I like a drink. Real ale generally, although I am partial to quaffing the odd glass of red wine, but that’s about it. Spirits are a no-go. As is cider. Lager I always find pretty yukky, plus it gives me a woeful headache whether I’ve drunk one or several. I also love tea, but that’s by-the-by. What I am trying to explain (very badly after reading this back) is that I am generally a social drinker. I might venture out, maybe once or twice a week, but only if there were a gig or some football on the telly. My days of spending every other night in the local are long gone. And physically impossible too I might add.

The fact that Seven by Seven operates from 3-8pm on a Sunday makes it a long enough and lively enough session without things getting too out of hand. Unfortunately, things often get out of hand. There are three reasons why I believe this to be so:

1. Firstly, the venue extended the Seven by Seven session to 9pm. An hour extra of frivolity makes a big difference when the mood takes.

2. Secondly, I have started arriving earlier. I travel by public transport, like the majority of the other patrons, and this can be notoriously unreliable for numerous reasons - strikes, roadworks, fun-runs in the city centre, vanishing buses and trains, as well as the Leeds Inner City Centre one-way system can all be partly blamed. Due to these impediments, I normally plan to get into town about 30/40 minutes before the official kick-off time. A swifty in the Duck and Drake is usually followed by the 50-yard wobble to the venue. Something that I have noticed lately, perhaps due to the recent fine weather (remember those 3 days?) and the fact we generally sit outside the front of the pub, is that it is great for people-watching. And it is usually the people that are heading to the Wharf Chambers. Some are already at a table enjoying a bottle of ‘heavy’ or a fancy cocktail. Others pass by and join in the fun. It is a street laced with ‘characters’ to be fair.

3. Thirdly, when we finally stumble out of the Seven by Seven event, as the last records are played and the bar has closed, Smitty will always suggest going for a final drink "to finish the night off". It is really finishing me off as, at this point of the day my brain is addled, I can barely focus and am struggling to speak. Of course, I could drink a little slower and in moderation. And I do try, honestly. But then the euphoria of the music takes me to another place and I find myself queuing at the bar again and again and again...

In actuality, there are (unsurprisingly) lots of responsible drinkers at the venue. Some I have seen bring their own teabags into the place. I wish I had their discipline. I clearly don’t.

I can recall one occasion when I was fairly well on it and decided to go for a bit of ‘me’ time (ie a small, dark room where I could regain my senses) in the large unisex toilet situated in the Wharf Chambers. It’s very nice, as loos go. I wouldn’t like to live there, but you get my drift. Anyhow, some considerable time had passed whilst I went searching for my missing faculties. At some point, after around 20 minutes or so, I convinced myself that I had actually left the building and moved onto another pub. Imagine my surprise, when, upon opening the toilet door I was greeted by the sight of what looked like Smitty attempting to start a conga. The vision of this still haunts me to this day...

On a related note, I remember chatting to Quest and idly mentioned that there was seldom any bad behaviour or extreme drunkenness on display at a Seven by Seven event.

“Well!” he replied sagely, “if you don’t include that lass who was dancing on the tables that one time. Legs and arms akimbo. That was wild. I motioned to the bar staff in order to see what the next course of action should be and they just waved a hand, in a very European way, as though it was an everyday occurrence and nothing to fret about.”

“Jeez!” I said, “I don’t remember that at all. And I’m pretty sure I would have done.”

“Yeah. I don’t know where you were. It was a crazy night. I think Smitty was trying to start a conga around the same time too...”

My brain exploded!!!!

I think the worst state I was in was at one of the Leeds Playhouse 1001 Stories Takeover Sessions. There are lots of portions to this sandwich, so stay with me on this. It was the day of King Charles' Coronation and I had been invited to my younger brother’s gaff in Boroughbridge, where the rest of my family were heading to as well. It was mooted as a fancy dress gathering, but only myself and my 8-year-old niece, Aurora, made the effort. As true Royalists I came as Frank Sidebottom, and she as Pennywise from the film, It. To further cloud the already murky waters, Aurora had mucked about with the TV channels, so that no one was able to watch the Coronation anyway. Not that we cared! The brother grabbed a keg of beer (Copper Dragon for all you real ale enthusiasts out there) from Boroughbridge Social Club and rolled it across the road to the house.

“90 pints for £70! Let’s get sloshed!” was his utterance as the barrel came bibbling and bobbling through his back garden.

“I’m not going mad!” I replied, “I have a Seven by Seven thing later and I don’t want to get too smashed...”

Anyway, some considerable time passed and some considerable boozing also passed. I had a little to eat (not enough as it happens) and eventually I got a ride back into Leeds. The enormous Frank Sidebottom head that I had been suffocating in all day, was finally removed and I was up to jiggery-pokery again. The day got worse (or better, depending on how you looked at things). The lady serving me drinks at the Playhouse gave me a substantial discount each time I ordered, obviously presuming I was one of the cast. I’m not sure what gave her that idea, although I may have said I was some kind of entertainer. It does get a little hazy from this point in. I am going to say now (possibly controversially) that the lack of oxygen in the Frank Sidebottom head caused temporary insanity, although I am not sure this would cut much ice in court. Nevertheless, the evening wore on blissfully. My handwriting when noting down the records played in ‘the book’ was its usual atrocious self after 10 pints or so. Several more drinks were then had with Tony and Mark C in The Wardrobe, after an unsuccessful sojourn to Nawaab’s Indian Restaurant. I mean, I’ve been turned away from many a nightclub in the past, but a curry house is definitely a first. I blame the company I kept...

Then came oblivion. The glory of Bowie. Falling into bushes. And then bed.

It was a sad end to a glorious day.

God Save the King. We mean it maaaan. And keep the pints coming.