Back in another life I would travel regularly to Italy on business with an amazing friend and business partner – Knobby. Now this legend of a man is by far the funniest person you will ever meet in your life, if something crazy is about to happen, you can be guaranteed that Knobby will be at the centre of it. If something can happen, it will happen, and always to Knobby. I love him – he’s my genuine brother from another mother.

So, Knobby doesn’t travel well. He’s okay while he’s in the UK, but get him in unfamiliar surroundings and he kind of struggles a bit – particularly with food. But he’s brave, after 15 pints of lager (easy for Knobby) he’ll eat literally anything. And I really mean anything! And it doesn’t always go in through his mouth!

So we’re down in Bari buying up container-loads of stuff, our supplier is rather pleased with the order we’ve just given her so she invites us to dinner that evening. Which of course we graciously accept. “Do you like fish?” she said. Yes, of course came a beautifully synchronised response (we always worked well together). Now Knobby’s idea of fish is Haddock and chips with a side of curry sauce out of his local chippy, or a fish finger butty. But not necessarily the kind of fish you’ll find in a specialist fish restaurant in Southern Italy. So this was going to be fun.

We go out for a few pre-dinner drinks before meeting up with our host, and as you’ve probably guessed by now, Knobby can actually drink like a fish, so we’re pretty toasted when we arrive at the restaurant. Our host offers to order for us so that we can get a real taste of Bari. Great idea says Knobby as he doesn’t know how to order haddock and chips with a side of curry sauce in Italian. The boy can’t order a taxi in Italian let alone haddock. So far, so good. However, the night is young.

Well, you would not believe what came to the table. When I said earlier about this being a specialist fish restaurant, I should have emphasised ‘Specialist’ – extremely specialist. I could not believe what I was looking at. There was all kinds of crazy fish on the table, little of which I recognised, most of which was raw. Knobby didn’t really notice because he’d disappeared a while ago to use the toilet (he goes every 7 minutes), and was currently in the middle of a crowd of strangers trying to tell a story about when he fell in a river on way home from the pub one night. None of them could understand what in hell he was talking about, but they were still rolling around in fits of laughter. He has a gift.

I drag him to our table, he looks at the food, he looks at me, I smile, he doesn’t know what to do, we eat. Me, I kind of just nibble, “had a big lunch” I said. Knobby, he’s had a skin-full of Peroni by now and gets stuck straight in, like a hero. And the fish just kept coming, we must have exhausted the entire Mediterranean of every living thing that night, all kinds of weird raw fish. I nibbled. Knobby gorged. “That was better than it looked” he said after finally completing his challenge. “You’ll regret it” I said. “No” he said. “You will!”. He was right.

After dinner we thank our host for her generous hospitality and make our way to the bar next door to our hotel and Knobby of course gets stuck in. He’s having a great time, the locals are mixing up all kinds of crazy drinks to pour down his throat, and he just soaks it all up. It gets so bad that they’re starting to lay odds on how long before we need to call emergency services. But he’s my boy, he just keeps on going.

Amarone Grappa

At 2am I remind him that we need to be up at 5am to get to the airport, best to head off back to the hotel. Compliant as always, Knobby throws a couple more shots of Grappa down and we leave. I think it only took us about 45 minutes to find the hotel which was literally next door. It’s at this point where you need to know something rather personal about Knobby. You already know that he needs to visit the toilet roughly every 7 minutes, which is okay if you aren’t Knobby. However,,, I’ve learned over the years that whenever we share a hotel room always make sure that Knobby gets the bed closest to the bathroom, and ensure there’s a clear path to it, and leave a guiding light on. Because when he needs to go, he goes. Especially when drunk. And he has a bit of a reputation for,,, well,,, not sure how to quite put this,,, but,,, not always recognising where the bathroom is, no matter how much effort you’ve made.

You know that sound of water tumbling on a taught tarp? Well, I’m under my bed sheet,,, and I’m awoken by that sound. Yep, you’ve guessed it. I look up, it’s not the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen, but he’s stood over me,,, I’ll say no more, picture it for yourself. It wasn’t good. I’ve since learnt from others in this exclusive club that you can’t count yourself amongst Knobby’s true friends until he’s pee’d on you. I feel honoured. I clean up.

5am. The alarm goes off. Knobby’s gone missing, but that’s not unusual, he’s probably gone off to find a toilet. I take a shower, get dressed and he appears from nowhere. “Where the f**k have you been?” I said. “Don’t know” came the reply. That usually means nothing good, I pretend everything’s okay. We aren’t really in a particularly good state at this point, and somehow we need to navigate ourselves to the airport without bouncing off too much stuff along the way. But we make it.

It’s at this point that the previous night’s fish feast plus 20-25 bottles of Peroni, and at least 10 shots of Grappa (maybe some Limoncello too) begins to have a negative effect on Knobby’s digestive system. He’s starting to feel a little,,, uh,,, loose. Every seven minutes. Very loose. Check-in was fun, security was interesting, Knobby was loose. Poor guy, seriously, he was in big trouble. We boarded the plane. He had to go. We were delayed. The plane can’t take off with Knobby in the toilet. The cabin crew talk him out on the promise that we should be in the air with seat-belt lights turned off within the next seven minutes. They lied. My poor friend. It got messy.

After the longest 3 hour flight ever known to man, we arrive back in the UK. Then a two hour drive to my place with stops at every service station and lay-by along the way. Four hours later, we’re home. Knobby takes a bath. No dinner. Just bed.

So this is just how life is with my incredible friend. A day in the life of Knobby.

A few weeks later we find ourselves back in sunny Italy. Venice this time, and an opportunity to spend an evening with my family. They’ve invited us to join them for dinner. This time Knobby takes a (slightly) more cautious approach to the evening. Of course,  he’s got them all laughing like crazy even though they have no idea what on earth he’s going on about, and then my cousin introduces him to a local speciality of fruit soaked in jars of Grappa. Here we go again! When the food comes to the table Knobby suddenly goes silent – Octopus! You can work the rest out for yourselves.

I love my friend Knobby.