With the imminent closure of the club known as 'Br' on Blossom Street and with the rise in popularity of Coney Street's riverside bars there has been much talk recently of the death of the Micklegate run. Our intrepid group of pub crawlers decided to brave the hordes of pastel shirted drinkers and galloping hen parties to see if, like Hemmingway's, its demise is greatly exaggerated. Along the way we enjoyed Champagne, Absinthe, Jenga and cake.

One thing I've always noticed about our first port of call, The Nags Head, is that during the daytime the same man, with the mornings paper scattered over a seat, is permanently sat in the window. Lo, and indeed, behold he's there as we trundle in to begin drinking. The Nag's Head is a proper Micklegate pub, unlike your traditional establishment there are no weird collections of Toby jugs, spoons or horse brasses decorating the walls. I presume a full on Friday night would see them gone in seconds. Instead the walls are headachingly decorated in oranges, reds and yellows and, along with thick strings of flashing fairy lights framing the window, seem designed to give you a seizure. One of our crawlers is celebrating a birthday and the very friendly landlord gets the night off to a boozy start by giving her a free bottle of Champagne. Not sure it was vintage Moet & Chandon, more like one of those 'bottles of bubbly' hen parties get given in clubs, but it was free alcohol...so who cares?

A short stagger and we find ourselves in Walkers Bar, a pub that used to have a fearsome reputation but, following a refurbishment and regular live music, is a lot less Micklegate than some of the shinier pubs surrounding it. Walkers Bar is also notable because it is one the few, if not the only, venue in York that offers the legendary tipple Absinthe. Renowned for turning bohemian painters mad and blind this sinister green liquid is something ridiculous like 234% proof. Nosedivers lead singer GT Turbo, (who else), starts the debauchery and shots begin to line up on the bar. Spoonfuls of sugar are doused in the spirit and set alight, these are then poured into the drink, which causes it to burn with an ethereal blue/green flame. Finally warm water douses the fire and the whole lot is gulped in one. I'm not sure how much of an effect the green stuff had but I was drunk enough to go and enjoy the band who were playing a selection of pub-rock classics. Highlight of this 'gig' was the lead singer announcing that 'WE'RE GONNA PLAY SOME ROCK AND ROLL...but first I need to find my glasses...'

We drink some more Absinthe, this time pre-prepared and sold in little test tubes, and notice that a lot of people who drink in Walkers Bar look like vampires.

Wandering down the road and over the bridge we plunge ourselves into the massive Yates booze emporium - that bastion of proper shoes, tucked in shirts and cleavage. Taking advantage of a load of 'buy one - get one free' vouchers Yates had kindly dished out to us we get beer and monopolise some tables. Now to be honest Yates, on a Friday and Saturday night, is not the kind of place a scruffy tyke like myself would particularly fit in. However, we're there on a Tuesday evening and the atmosphere is pretty chilled and friendly. In fact the majority of rowdy behaviour comes from us as a chair mysteriously 'falls apart', (honest), and our photographer gets told off for standing on things to take pictures. The only other slightly dodgy incident comes when the lead singer of Cognac eavesdrops on a conversation in the toilets which consists of two blokes discussing kicking Alsatians and burglaries they done.

We leave and walk all the way next door to O'Neils, one of York's Irish bars. Now theme pubs are often cited as unfriendly, with no atmosphere and responsible for the extinction of 'real' hostelries. Like any bar though the place is only as decent as its staff, and O'Neils is blessed with extremely welcoming people behind the bar. And that's not just because Helen, the bar manager, gave our birthday crawler, who was doing rather well for herself, some cake and ice cream.

I was quite drunk by this time but, grasping at slivers of memory from my alcohol saturated brain, can remember a barmaid saying she liked the pub 'because of all the nice people you meet' and one of the crawlers getting sharked by two French blokes in a game of giant Jenga. I also recall seeing a pair of high-heeled shoes perched on the bar next to some cutlery...a curiously erotic sight. Then we went home. Which is when the madness and blindness kicked in.