It was with nervous anticipation that we waited for the first tram of the day; mercifully, it was only a short time before it arrived, cutting smoothly through the murky Croydon morning.

Tram Nº 1

We’d read all about the Tramlink, of course, and I’m sure I’m not the only member of the group who had imagined this scene and played it through mentally over and over again. But nothing can really prepare you for what it’s like to actually see the tram pull up and to step aboard into its sleek, welcoming interior.

But our joy was short-lived: the distance from East Croydon station to the George Street stop is some 20 metres. These guys put the Docklands Light Railway to shame in terms of unnecessarily close stops.

We’d left this second pub to the Lucky Dip theory of selection, figuring that it was Croydon town centre so there would be plenty to choose from. In which case, why on earth did we pick somewhere with the ludicrous name of “the Old Brief Ale Café”? I’m afraid I don’t remember, but to be fair – despite its chain bar feel – it wasn’t too bad.

The same could not be said of Alex’s behaviour, however. Whilst Simon and I drank Abbot, Tim had a bottle of Beck’s, Alan had a Carling (“sorry, we don’t serve cider”) and Pad had a rank John Smith’s, Alex disgraced himself by ordering a Bloody Mary. This small oversight could have been overlooked, but he subsequently committed further self-soiling by finishing it too quickly and then convening an ad hoc group meeting to ask if it was “Ok to drink a half”. This, frankly, was a step too far. By rights, of course, we should have simply expelled him from the group there and then, but after much humble – and, frankly, demeaning – begging on Alex’s part, we allowed him to order a half of Kronenbourg, on the condition that he drank it with a straw. This he did, and by the looks of things he also went for a swizzle-stick:

I don’t recall what I was doing here, but Alex looks worried

The group seemed to disband temporarily at this point – some timewasters, whose names I won’t mention, hadn’t prepared properly and had to roam the streets looking for cash machines, while Pad disappeared into a bunch of shops looking for an elusive item of clothing which was required for a later forfeit. After about half an hour, he came back, still empty-handed, and we were left guessing what “hilarious prank” he might have up his sleeve (or up his jumper).

Anyway, our verdicts:

As ever, we had to drink up fast and then squeeze in a rakishly-angled photograph before getting on down to the next one.