I cant really get close to any of these tales but one particularly boozy saturday night me and rafo decided to drive to kettering the next day. This was probably 97-98 season. We were playing on Sunday for some reason, the game ended 0-0 I think, not that we ever got there.
We set off suitably hung over at about one. All we knew was that it was south of birmingham. We stopped at knutsford services rafo ran in looked at an A-Z and came back saying it was sorted. Off I set in my 205, a man on a mission with his sozzled sidekick navigator in the wings. Somewhere near Oxford rafo decided we should stop at the next services as it was 1445 and we still hadnt seen a sign for kettering. At the time I wasnt aware there was a bloody good reason for that, we'd been going in the wrong direction for about an hour. My trusty sidekick suggested we abandon all hope at about 3.15 when he made his 2nd consultation to an A-Z in the services realising that Oxord and Kettering aren't Alty and Macclesfield distance wise. We had a burger king and drove home. Id just split up with my bird at the time, I got home with rafo in tow about half six and my ex's mum was waiting outside the house to give me a piece of her mind as her precious daughter had locked herself in her bedroom for the past three days.
I think she gave up hope of getting through to me when I pulled up informed her that I wasnt in the mood as Id driven to Oxford and back for a whopper. She was probably glad id left her daughter when rafo also fell out of the car. His boyish good looks were still marred by his heavily toothpasted eyebrows from the night before, he was also sporting a signal quiff. I had decided not to tell him for a giggle and ended up not telling him out of anguish of missing the game.
I have many fond memories of Hugh being bizarre on the coach and fortunately I was never on the carsville on one of its many breakdowns.