Life is busy. Between the school runs, the work deadlines, the weeknight routines that blur into one long, responsible slog, it's easy to forget what it feels like to just go somewhere with your mates and see what happens. But every now and then, the stars align. The calendars sync up. The leave pass gets signed. And suddenly you're standing on a platform with a bag over your shoulder and that unmistakable buzz in your chest, the one you used to get as a kid on the first morning of a holiday, that feeling of not quite knowing what's coming next but knowing it's going to be good.

That's the thing about these weekends away with the boys. It's not really about the destination. It's about the adventure of it. The not knowing. The stumbling into places you'd never have found if you'd actually planned it properly. There's a kind of magic in having no real agenda beyond "let's see what happens," because what happens is almost always better than anything you could have mapped out on a spreadsheet.

London: Saturday to Sunday, No Time to Waste

Last year it was London. Just a Saturday to Sunday job, so the pressure was on to cram as much in as possible. Although, let's be honest, the reality of these trips is you start a crawl with grand ambitions and end up rooted in a place you like, and that's absolutely fine.

The journey started with checking into The Grand Hotel in Trafalgar Square, bags dumped, coats on, and out the door within minutes. From there we meandered our way through the city towards Camden, stopping off at the odd pub along the way, no rush, no route, just a general sense of direction and an agreement that if a pub looked decent we were going in. That's the beauty of London, every corner has something to offer and every pub has a story.

We finally hit Camden, watched the United game in one pub, the usual mix of shouting at a screen surrounded by strangers who are suddenly your best mates for ninety minutes, before finding our way to The Elephant's Head. Now, if you haven't been, The Elephant's Head is one of those places that just works. The crowd was good, the music was blaring, the drinks were flowing, and it stayed open late. Really late. The kind of late where you look at your phone and genuinely can't believe what time it is.

Tubing it back at two in the morning was an adventure on its own. There's something beautifully surreal about the London Underground in the small hours, a strange cast of characters all with their own stories, half of them asleep, the other half buzzing. We got back, collapsed, and woke up with that particular Sunday morning feeling where the memories from the night before come back in fragments, each one funnier than the last.

Manchester: Coming Home, Sort Of

The most recent trip saw us head to Manchester. No particular reason, other than the fact I used to live there for ten years and have a soft spot for the place and one of the lads is Mancunian himself. There's something comforting about going back somewhere you know well but experiencing it differently, through the lens of a weekend with the lads rather than the daily grind of actually living there. Streets that used to be your commute suddenly become an adventure again.

A straw man plan was made, because you always need at least the outline of a plan even if you know you're going to abandon it within the first hour. The idea was to watch the United game followed by the rugby in The Plough in Heaton Moor, a proper pub with proper pints, before checking into The Edwardian and then hitting the streets. The damp streets, naturally, because this is Manchester and some things never change. The rain doesn't dampen the spirit though, if anything it adds to the atmosphere. Manchester in the rain is Manchester at its most Manchester.

Chicken schnitzel for lunch, a bottle of Pinot Noir, because apparently we're cultured now, followed by many, many cocktails. The mood was only dampened by the destruction of the Welsh rugby team by England, much to the great delight of the boys. The only saving grace was that none of them are massive rugby fans, so I was spared most of the banter. Most of it. Not all of it. Never all of it.

Within fifteen minutes of checking in we were out again. No plan, just another wander to see what's happening. "The Northern Quarter is good," someone said, with the quiet confidence of a man who'd read one TripAdvisor review. So off we trundled.

The Northern Quarter: Cocktails, Characters, and Closing Time

The first bar we hit was Guilty By Association, an industrial chic basement bar that does cocktails. Incredible cocktails. This seemed to be the theme for the trip, just cocktails upon cocktails upon cocktails. The bank accounts were definitely taking a hit, but there's an unspoken rule on these weekends: you don't check your balance until Monday. What happens on the boys' weekend stays on the boys' weekend, including the financial damage.

Before long we were making friends with random groups, which is one of the great joys of a night out in a new city. There's no baggage, no history, just people having a good time who fancy a chat. Time passed quickly, the way it always does when you're genuinely enjoying yourself, and before we knew it they were calling last orders. "Where next?" someone shouted. "Hula, across the road. It's open until the sun comes up." Off we set.

Hula is a tiki lounge bar with a retro 1950s beach bar vibe, all bamboo and neon and drinks served in coconuts. An absolute oasis, and a stark contrast to the rain. The incessant, relentless, thoroughly Manchester rain hammering down outside while we sat inside pretending we were somewhere tropical. Like The Elephant's Head in Camden, this is where we saw out the rest of the evening. Or should I say the morning. There's a tipping point on these nights where the evening officially becomes the morning and nobody cares, and Hula is the perfect place for that moment.

The cocktails definitely took their toll. The walk back to the hotel was a bit of a blur, one of those journeys you piece together the next day using Google Maps and vague recollections of landmarks. "Did we walk past a cathedral?" "I think so." "Was it raining?" "Obviously."

Sunday Morning: The Recovery Protocol

Sunday morning reprieve. This is where The Edwardian earned its keep, because it has a fantastic pool and spa. After a quick breakfast, we piled in to soak, nurse, steam, and sauna away our hangovers. There's something almost ceremonial about it, the collective suffering, the quiet groans, the shared understanding that nobody needs to talk too much. Just float, breathe, and let the chlorine do its work.

If it wasn't for the lads waking me to get up off one of the pool beds, I could have slept there all day. Easily. But it was time to go. Back to real life. Back to the routines and the responsibilities and the school runs. But you go back different. Lighter. With a phone full of photos you'll laugh at for months and stories that'll get retold at every gathering until the next trip gives you new ones.

Next Stop: Berlin. Why Not?

That's the thing about these weekends. Even before one ends you're already planning the next. The ideas start flying around in the group chat before you've even got home. Next time we're going to Berlin. Why not? Bigger city, bigger adventure. And from what I’ve already experienced, Berlin has plenty of cocktail bars. So that theme isn't going anywhere.

Because that's what it's all about, really. It's not about the cocktails, or the bars, or even the cities. It's about carving out a bit of time with your mates, stepping out of the ordinary, and feeling that buzz again. That kid-on-a-holiday buzz. That sense of possibility. You might be older, a bit creakier, a bit more likely to need a spa day to recover, but the feeling is exactly the same. The world is full of places you haven't been yet, and the best way to see them is with your mates by your side, no real plan, and nowhere to be until Monday.

So if you're reading this and you haven't had a weekend away with the lads or girls in a while, sort it out. Text the group chat. Pick a city. Book a hotel. The rest will take care of itself. It always does.