I'm Not Drunk - I Have Cerebal Palsy

So it is now 2007.
It almost feels like I haven't been away from work over Christmas!.

After finishing work on the Friday before Christmas I frantically darted across Manchester dropping off presents and barely had time for a few festive drinks with friends.

For various reasons I didn't book a flight for my annual pilgrimage to my parents', instead, I decided at the last minute to take advantage of the Scotrail Seated Sleeper which runs between Preston and Scotland.

Having hauled my luggage (a suitcase, a shoulder bag and a Tesco carrier bag containing a bottle of wine and some food) to Salford Crescent station, I only just managed to board the Preston train, struggling to move on the packed train, which was also the last train from Manchester taking various piss heads back to their small town homes in Central Lancashire.

The passengers consisted of one extremely snooty lady, and what I took to be the Preston North End Supporters Club, some of whom decided to have a fight on the train, tearing each others' jackets and leaving a mystery little bag at my feet when the train emptied at Chorley (thanks, boys!)

Preston Station, normally one of the busiest I have ever encountered is an eerie place late at night.
There were no other passengers on the platforms, no staff in then ticket office, shutters round all the shops, and on the departures board, wierd information such as "Staff Train: 01:45".

No ticket man had been on the local Preston service, so I had to buy my ticket using one of the new machines that I had to feed with £10 notes.

Having walked to the furthest reaches of Preston I managed to board the Sleeper, only after the guard (decked out in Santa hat) checked to see if there was room on board.

Highly reccomended. By the time I reached Lancaster, I was asleep and my bottle of wine went unopened.