Fatty would like to thank Doc Brown for his time machine and Matty Kyles for the copious amounts of LSD that made this convention report possible.
Thursday 4th September.
The dark clouds which had threatened rain gave way to spears of golden sunlight and a cool breeze as I jumped off the bus at Waverly.
The heavy holdall containing 24 cans of Tennants lager and 11 bottles of Smirnoff Blue Label vodka clinked with every step down to the station and I cursed the stereotypical image of a hard drinking Scotsman I had been lumbered with.
I scanned the concource for Shanyaks and checked my watch.I was late myself so the bastard should have been here by now. I sat on a bench where I could get a good view of the dirty magazines in WH Smiths and waited for Shanyaks to appear.
I had gone through 24 Rothmans and four filthy sexual fantasies before the cunt showed up.
'Where the fuck have you been you useless prick? You were supposed to meet me an hour and a half ago.' I screamed in his fat gormless face.
'No I wasn't.' replied Shanyaks ' This is just an additional paragraph in the story where you can drag up the time we went to Wembley in 92 and you got here 5 minutes before me. Now every time you tell the story you make me arrive a little later. 11 years down the line and it's an hour and half you've been waiting, and since when did you scream in my face which has suddenly become fat and gormless. It's a fucking good job this is just a story or I'd sink you like a three foot put.
I was satisfied with the response. It made us both look tough without losing too much face.
We still had three minutes before our train was due to leave so for the purposes of re-enforcing our tough image we retired to the Cooper's Rest and sank 7 pints and 12 vodkas before catching the train.
As is typical of hard drinking Scotsmen we sank our carry out before we reached Berwick and spent the remainder of the journey to London upside down in the toilet.
Freddie B had joined the train at some point and was chopping out generous lines of coke on a table by the time we woke up.
At Paddington we changed trains and met up with Eggy, Raspy and Taylor-Mayed. From there we went to Heathrow where Bob had made arrangements for the flight to Canada.
We knew Bob worked in the aerospace industry so when he told us that he had arranged the flight we naturally imagined a chartered plane.
He lead us across the tarmac to a hanger and asked us to wait outside.
A minute or two later the giant doors of the hanger slid open and our transport to Canada rolled slowly into view.
We stared in disbelief at the strange contraption. Essentially it was a Harley Davidson motor cycle fitted with two sidecars on either side, wings and a tail.
'Whaddya think?' asked Bob, grinning from ear to ear.
There was silence apart from the dull thud of six jaws hitting the tarmac in unison.
'A wee project of mine, I've been sneaking spare parts out of work for the past two months and fitting them to the hog. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe. Everythings been tested.
We walked around the bizzare flying machine, trying to take it in. Eventually Taylor-Mayed spoke.
'couple of questions Bob. I only see spaces for 6 people and theres 7 of us'
'Nine as a matter of fact' said Bob with a grin.
' Look,' explained Bob 'I'm up front and Freddie B sits pillion behind me, Eggy and Sonya in the right sidecar and You and PG in the left.
'PG?' asked Taylor-Mayed looking around him.
'Over there' said Bob, pointing to a shadowy corner of the hanger.
Sure enough in the darkness, we could just make out the faint glow of PG's cigarette.
'Fair enough' said Taylor-Mayed 'but where are Fatty and Shanyaks supposed to sit and what the fuck are we going to use for fuel? I can't see us getting to Edmonton on a tankfull of five star.
'You've actually just answered your own question Paul' replied Bob.
They are the fuel.'
Bob cocked a thumb in our direction.
Shanyaks and I looked at e