The perfect piss-up

Irvine Welsh
The build-up would start at midday. I'd go with all my buddies from football to a pub that doesn't exist any more - The Clan Tavern in Leith. The great thing about the Clan was that the beer was so bad you had to drink bottled beer. If you got a good pint you took it back because it was suspect.

It would be one of those really horrible winter's days in Scotland, where you go out into the cold and you get into the pub and everyone's a wee bit stiff and strained at first, but then they begin to relax. It starts to get better at the second pint, but the perfect moment comes at the third, because that's when you feel the alcohol begin to kick in.

You would have a brilliant conversation where you discuss the important issues - Hibs football team, basically. Everyone would start telling tales about what they've got up to in the week - who's fallen out with who or who's stabbed or shot who or who's been shagging who. All these mad, bizarre tales come together. Everyone's swapping stories and jokes and enjoying the schadenfreude of other people's misfortune who aren't blessed by being around the table. From that third pint to the tenth is a great feeling. You wish you could just hold on to it for ever.

But there is a moment when you go beyond that feeling and people start making fools of themselves. It's fine as long as it's someone else. There was a character in The Clan called Paddy Stanton who had Elvis tattooed on his arse, which he wasted no time at all in showing to everyone when he was inebriated. He'd dance on the strippers' stage in the pub and his mother used to hold her knitting up in front of him to protect his modesty. The landlord usually steps in to put a stop to moments like that, or then it's chucking-out time, and you always end up back in someone's house or a club, carrying on.

· Irvine Welsh appears at Ananova Alert, a two-day event in London, on the changing nature of news, on 27 and 28 November. Tickets: 020 7208 7220 or visit!

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