So we’d come up to Leeds for Youd’s birthday... we’d made the trip, through the ice-covered war fields of the north. Gambling with our very lives, just to see the man on his bloody birthday... and what do we find when we get there? Everyone else has just stayed at home, sitting on their warm arses watching X-Factor. It’s one of the saddest rules of the world when tight groups of friends split up. We were a pretty tight group, planning and going on our hols together, we must have been. What’s happened to us since then?

Pete was a big part of the group; when he wasn’t living in our house, he was always there. He was first to go. He decided he wanted to move out of the house without telling anyone living there. Marching up to the landlord’s he exclaimed he wanted to move. When asked what the other guys were doing... he said “They’re moving too”. They weren’t moving, so why did he say that? No one knows. And No one will ever know. Two weeks before they all had to be out, Pete tells them, shortly before fucking off... never to be seen or heard from again.

Jordan has been heard from... intermittently. He’ll throw out a scrap of a text every 6 months, complaining and blaming everyone for ignoring him and cutting him out. You write a text back, filled with love and emotion about how much you miss him, asking him to meet up. Then radio silence for another 6 months. Last I heard (this weekend) was that he got pissed off not being asked to direct Batman 3, so he moved to Australia where he must have been told there’s a HUGE film industry, and they’ll let you direct blockbusters just for being English. Good luck Jord...

I’m including Nathan & Gemma as a combined entity fairly. This was the case whilst we were in Spain, and throughout all the time spent with them both, it would be unfair to judge them differently now. Nathan could not attend the weekend as the previous weekend he was moving house, and put his back out in the process. At first I considered this to be a crap-out, but after hearing that... two week’s later, he’s still clapped out on the sofa, unable to lift his own face off of a grotty pillow... I’d say fair enough. Still, when you only meet up with people once a year, it’s shit that he wasn’t there. Along with these two... Gazz also was missing. His now infamous Medical Trial has been playing havoc with his schedule the past few weeks, including 2 days and evenings a week. Meaning he has to work (having a normal job as well) every other day of the week – getting no actual days off. He’s working for that money. He’s not the only one working for it... he may not have got to come up, but we had to do it without him – everyone loses. So who WAS there? Youd (surprisingly – it’s unlikely the man would show up at his own wedding), and Rob. And even they showed up late.

“3pm! I’ll be at the stairtion at three lad!” Said Youd earlier that day. 15:40... and Des’ree and I are waiting in front of Burger King (under Youd’s instructions) at Leeds Train Station. I’ve got my arm round her... which she keeps wriggling away from as she’s uncomfortable... “NO!!!!!” I scream into her horrified little face. I’d planned a bit of live theatre. When Youd saw us, I’d have my arm round her, then I’d see him and face-push her out the way before running over to him... We’d been waiting like that for 40 minutes and it was getting a little uncomfortable. Sure enough... when he finally strolled in, with Rob and Rob’s mate Dan in tow... I unwrapped my arm, unleashed a proper ‘Youd-patented’ face-push for the inventor’s benefit, and ran over to him, arms spread like an eagle trying to catch an oversized beach ball. Then I realised his back had been turned and he hadn’t seen any of it. That’s an hour’s silent treatment for nothing.

A few hours of New Leeds had to be endured before we got to the good stuff. To Leeds Station Wetherspoons for one (it was the closest pub... I think Youd might be an alcoholic). Then we moved on to the nearest place on the trail... an upmarket restaurant, bar & grill, before an awful bar nowhere near anything, in one of the new development areas they’ve built flats, and a couple of bars and restaurants and they think it makes them desirable. After a standard Pizza Express, we head over (finally) to Call Lane – stopping off at Prohibition for absolutely no conceivable reason other than Youd was scared of getting a tiny bit sober. Prohibition consists of groups of 50+ women (all of them above 50 not huge groups of women), grinding against a poor 18 year-old glass collector as he struggles to sweep up an ‘accidentally’ thrown to the floor table of wine glasses. Not a great place to be. I was as happy as Dappy when we finally ended up in Oporto

Despite him being sat less than ten yards away, Rob texts his wingman (Dan) to come over and help him chat up some girls. They just look at the girls whilst remaining in their corner. Dan then goes by himself to chat up some other girls, ordering Rob to stay where he is. The Extreme Ghostbusters (Youd’s new friends, whom he doesn’t really like, but who serve a purpose) tell me their mission is to get Youd a kiss from a lucky lady – the sexier the better. Such a shame Youd has friends like these... he doesn’t want a kiss from a random, nice looking if possible but not really that important girl in a bar... who’s feeling pressured into it by 3 large, and quite obviously just done a shitload of cocaine guys. As soon as that’s suggested, you might as well be asked to suck off a turd. Youd wants a girlfriend he can dote over, someone to share his passions and his playful outlook on life’s pleasures. You don’t understand him! Give him back to me! – I think I got a bit possessive at this point.

Off to BRB, to procure a round of sofas (no matter how busy it is... you can always get a sofa in BRB) for Youd to order a round of shots (as usual)... ‘OK Youd... I’ll have a shot. Jesus! Just make sure it’s not Black Samb... Oh it’s Black Sambuca. Of course it is.’ Bloody rough stuff. Despite the fact that we’re sat down on some comfy sofas, we had to move on. There just weren’t enough scantily clad slags for the Extreme Ghostbusters to leer at. So we move on to Vodka Revolution – the only chav bar on Call Lane. ‘That’s better, back to where I belong’, their shoulders seem to say as they sank down in relaxation...

Meanwhile Rob and I are left to complain to each other and make our way to the toilets. We had enough time mind; It took us a full hour to get there, past girls with seemingly no skirt, and guys who WILL NOT let you pass because they think you’re trying to move over to chat up the girl they’ve been edging closer to for the past 40 minutes. The only way to make your way through the hoard is by giving them a friendly tap on the bum, to say... ‘Excuse me, may I get past?’ But really telling them ‘I might be gay. Which means I automatically fancy you. So I think you should move out of my way or else I’ll do something that no one’s done to you since you came out of prison (on Thursday). Then they either get so homophobically scared of you, they either jump out of you way or kick you square in the balls. Either way you get to piss, or can’t piss... so it’s sorted.

Sadly I couldn’t convince anyone to move over to Mook (our usual 1-2am haunt), but at least I convinced everyone to leave Revolution – although only after we were all sat on a sofa, either tired of being in such a shit place, or tired of being slapped across the face over and over again. Shortly afterwards, we said our goodbyes and left. Meeting up the next day, just to say goodbye (again)... I was thinking... when are we going to get to do this again? As long as there’s enough TV work in the north, Youd won’t move south (why would he), Nathan and Rob have both moved to Manchester. Gazz and I are south. Jordan’s moved to Australia and no one knows if Pete’s even still alive.

Now, with less than half of us seemingly able to make the annual meeting... Where do we go from here?