TRAINHOP

I’ve been asked a lot recently, “What is Trainhop?” and it is time for me to explain.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO TRAINHOP!

Trainhop is a very simple concept: Biannually, once in summer, once in winter, a group of men (only men!) turn up at a chosen station, on a chosen day, at 11A.M.  They then travel on a random train to a distance no more than one hour away, with a tariff no greater than ten English Pounds. Whilst on the train the “Trainhoppers” or “Hoppers,” as they are known, enjoy a swift libation before embarking on a fourteen-hour killer bender in the chosen town, which usually ends up with 25 % of the group having a “dodgy pint” and, through no fault of their own, they vomit in public.

Trainhop is a magical event and there are a certain number of traditions that accompany the fun and frolics. Every Trainhop has a special drink.  In summer this is a “Hoptail,” a light and fruity number designed to refresh the Hopper on a warm summer’s day.  In winter, a “Winter Warmer” is the order of the day, designed to protect the Hopper against the cold winter air.

Unfortunately, no Trainhopper has ever attended bar-tender school, most have not attended school, for that matter. However, creativity is rife within the group and this often leads to something quite hideous, that usually curdles, and which led to the earliest Trainhop vomit, 11.45 A.M.

Above is this summer’s hoptail, “Stawberries and Cream,” a combination of Aldi imitation Balileys, 40% strawberry vodka, and a strawberry.  It curdled and looked like a fish that had been tortured in a blender.  It didn’t taste much better.  The worst ever was “Alcoholic Cuppasoup.” That consisted of: hot water, two scoops of budget instant soup mix, one large slug of vodka and three croutons.  Bad days, people.

The hop drink is always accompanied by train beers, and then it is tradition that we visit the first pub in the town.  It’s only early, and sometimes Hoppers do not get the warmest of receptions.

Because we are not always sure how far we are going to travel on the train, we usually have a surplus of beers which looks like a hamper for tramps, hence: “The Tramper.”  We then find our first warrior of the road and give them tins and tins of warm cheap beer and any remaining trainhop drink. The alcoholic cuppasoup saved lives.

Noticed the hunk in the tweed?  Yes, course you did.  That’s me.  Notice the little Tweed number, I’m wearing?  Yes, course you did. The last Trainhop was Trainhop 10, and that is a very special number. There is a ranking system in Trainhop, and after a Hopper’s third Hop, they earn their sergeant stripes and are entitled to vote on Hop business, and are also rewarded with a medallion.  On the tenth, a Hopper is knighted and loses all say in Hop business, thus allowing new blood to come through the ranks, and take the Hop to the next level. Myself and Lee Mallard earned blazers for our service.  Lee had a snazzy little red number, whilst I got the tweed, which looked shit, so I am going to get a new one. True story.

So, in a witty nutshell, that’s Trainhop, and we drink until we get the last train back home, drink on the train, and then drink when we get home. For the tenth, and with my retirement from official business, we had something a little special and organised some ad hoc team games, captained by Lee and myself. It is quite surreal to watch a “Shoe Duel” at 12.30 in the afternoon.

Wheel barrow races to pubs are more conventional, but fun, nonetheless.

Something that never helps with the vomiting is team-eating events.  I haven’t got a picture of the ice-cream eating contest that took place in Nuneaton market place, that actually drew a crowd, but I watched a man eat a two quid ice-cream in 41.3 seconds.  That has to be some sort of record after eight pints of lager.

We even had a “Hunk-Off” where each team had ten pounds to dress their chosen hunk, and then ladies picked their favourite superstud. See the red-hot Nuneaton sluts at the bottom of the picture?  They liked the stud with the beard. Who wouldn’t?

That said, in 10 hops, which roughly equates to 1800 man-hours, no-one has ever pulled a girl, or obtained a number.  With that many red-blooded sex-stallions, ten pints into a session, it is really difficult to fathom out why. Frigid women is the only answer.

Trainhops are pretty crazy, but they do provide good boosters to local pubs, as we try to frequent good old-fashioned locals, and fifty pints sold in an hour really do bump up the pub’s profits.  OK, sometimes things get a little out of hand, and there are always a few casualties, and a few pub toilets devastated, but that’s par for the course.

Trainhops builds relationships, man-time, cameraderie, beer-tolerance, and body mass indicies. It is a time to forget the woes of the world and explore new places, meet new people, experience different cultures (Stoke-on-Trent), taste different ales and throw up a little.  I’m passing on the baton, but I believe that the spirit of trainhop will be around as long as there are trains, or until boozing and drunks are banned from them (possibly from a Trainhop related incident).  I would love to see Trainhops starting from other towns, so that mass trainhops can take place on the same day. 

If you are reading this, and you would like to get involved in the franchise, drop me a mail and I’ll put you on to the new organiser. If you fancy starting your own Trainhop, drop us a line, too.  You can’t lose, because when all is said and done, and when all shoes have been thrown, it’s just an all-dayer.  But what an all-dayer!

I’d like to say a big thank you to everyone who has ever made an event.  I’d also like to thank Wellingborough, Newark and Lincoln, Chesterfield, Stamford, Birmingham, Kettering, Stoke, Melton Mowbray, Uttoxeter and Nuneaton for their hospitality.

The road goes ever on and on, and now I can only watch as Trainhop 11 wakes to a new world, with a new organiser.

THE KING IS DEAD!

LONG LIVE THE MAGGOT!

Feel free to add to any Trainhop stories to the bottom of the comments.