‘American Airlines’ said the Yankee, so many moons ago. ‘That’s what we need!’

It seemed a mad suggestion at the time, and he would be cruelly punished for his routine nonsense at the prying hands of the TSA (a story, my friends, for a little later). However, Silver and I acquiesced back in October, so found ourselves sat together on AA-somethingsomething with low expectations and little legroom.

Yet soon there appeared a pair of illicit, under the fold-out table gins, sourced by the amazonian Cayla, that queen of hostesses. Silver decides to cap this early victory by watching the knockabout comedy ‘Room’. He is quiet for some time.

Woody, the archduke of high-altitude bar-tending sedates me with a further quadruple gin, and I am still.

*

Reunited with the Big Man post-flight, we wait for the Yankee. We wait and we wait as Chicago O’Hare coughs up weary travelers and the Illinois sun slips across a snowy sky. We have a drink. We have another.

Eventually the Yankee emerges from security. He walks bow-legged, like a worn-down old jockey, late in his career. We ask him what kept him. He doesn’t wish to talk about it. It seems the TSA are somewhat ‘investigative’ when they put their minds to it. Quietly he begins to sob. We give him a drink and soon enough the weeping ceases. We all sit and drink. He stands.

*

Later we arrive at our Chicago homestead, drop bags and go out seeking food and beer. We find both, and in large quantities. My fare is so greasy it is practically transparent, but is tasty all the same. The Yankee’s misfortune is compounded when he loses a sports bet and takes a shot of hideous Chicago liqueur. He is less than happy, but in our group he is in the minority.

We troop back to camp where Andthesea has arrived and we enjoy a joyful reunion. We drink more drinks and some of us take short naps and then we’re out again, searching for nightlife.

There is liquor and noise and live music (poor) and women and sensitive bouncers and fast food (terrible) and drink. We make it to 5am (US time), 11am (UK time). Some succeed with the young damsels, to a certain degree, though I end up abed in the loving arms of Andthesea, as we snored and farted away our jetlag.

A fine, fine first day.