Mickey Ratts

Another very good friend of mine was a chap called Derek Smith whose family had originated on the West Coast (I understood they had a residence in Whistler) and he was a tall, sort of handsome stress analyst who liked a beer or three.

In the early years in Canada, we would visit Derek at his Grandmothers apartment (she was off in Florida) in Toronto and much beer was had, he had a buddy called Drew, who said he was from Jamaica, although he was one of the whitest dudes I had ever met.

The nights out in Toronto are the stuff of legend.

I could go off on some stories, but they all were a "you had to be there" type of story, sufficient to say, I had never had so much fun in Canada, sure, it was drunken fun and probably through the old rose colored glasses, but nevertheless, we had a group of people that were "well behaved" or "well conditioned" drunks and nights were usually safe and controlled.

We liked them so much that we even drove to one in a snowstorm (in the Ford Festiva biscuit Tin) once.

The diary entry in May 1990 reminds me of a trip to Buffalo, New York were we met up with Derek and his friend, who was a girl, but never seemed like a girlfriend, Tammy. We met at the Walden Galleria and had lunch and then booked ourselves in a motel.

The evening was spent at a place called "Mickey Ratts" and happened to be blue cup night. A concept that was amazing, went like this, you pay the man five bucks and he gives you a blue cup (about sixteen ounce size) and then, hear this, you can have it filled with beer forever (that night).

So we all had one of those.

I can remember being impressive on the mirrored dance floor, dancing with myself to Madonna (Vogue) and  leaning up against a column, the night became a series of snapshots and at some point, an argument between me and Derek, Tammy and Derek, or someone and Derek, ensued.

A taxi back to the motel and the invigorated discussions followed, I remember Derek becoming more hysterical and later (with Tammy and Karen drinking booze on the bed, watching with bemused looks on their faces) I tussled with him on the floor and finally, exasperated, thumped him on the head.

This then deteriorated in threats of throwing himself off the balcony (we were one floor up and he was over six feet tall) and then he went off driving in the car park before returning, tired and remorseful, to the motel room.

And once more, within minutes, we were all friends again.

Happy Times.