It was somebody or other's 21st birthday, and my flatmate was going, so I tagged along. We were on beer detail, and the nearby shop had a choice between low-end six packs and high-end 22s*. I chose the high end. After I'd consumed three of those, someone brought out the tequila & the room did shots. Judging by the taste, this tequila may have been less expensive than the beer. I'm not much of a hard-partier, but when in Edinburgh...

Somehow or another we repaired to an Irish bar that was crowded and alive. A band was doing covers, and doing them well, helped by the inclusion of a fiddle player on stage right. At around 2:50 am, the band knocked off and on came "Ole." You know this song. It goes, "Ole! Ole ole! Ole ole, ole ole. Ole! Ole! (really high in this part) Oleeeh! Oh-oh-leh." Then I think it repeats.

Myself and everyone else in the bar were crowded together, arm on arm in circles, screaming at the top of our lungs "Ole! (etc.)" Someone looked at me and said, "Et's a football song, hew cin you not love it?" I'm not sure what I was doing to indicate that I did not love it—perhaps my volume was merely throat-threatening, not truly throat-shredding, or perhaps the fire in my eyes was only just a candle to his roaring flame. Perhaps he just wanted to catch me up on the background, which I appreciate. I didn't know it was a football song! Everyone poured out of the pub and into the cobblestone streets and kept carousing all the way home. For half a mile through the old town the streets were hopping with drunk, happy, young Edinburghers.

* Are fluid ounces metric at all? Maybe they were 650s.