Wee John was actually driving, but he's so small I kept thinking we were on autopilot. (A prize for the first person to spot him).
I'm deliberately not going to show you the many wondrous attractions that lie on the Causeway Coast because, if you're not from Northern Ireland, I demand that you go there to see them for yourself.
So instead we fast forward to our night in Portrush (Major Golf Capital of the World) where, yes, we ate and we drank. As you do.
By this stage, Big Sean had left us as his wife Melanie wouldn't let him out. But not to worry, because it was time for Big Tony (second from right) and his incredibly patient wife Fun Paula (one of John's 67 sisters) to join the fray.
I was then genuinely expecting a nice early night in preparation for Saturday. But I had foolishly forgotten what Big Tony was like and, with teetotal Pav in the driving seat, I was effectively kidnapped and taken to Tony and Paula's house for some more oral lubrication.
John was pleased at the prospect...
...whilst I decided to put a brave face on it.
Really. I wasn't enjoying myself at all.
And, when we got there, neither was anyone else.
As you can clearly see.
What followed were several hours of "high brow" chat accompanied by champagne (thanks Tony), brandy and Baileys (thanks again Tony) and, finally, brandy and milk after all the mixers ran out (f*** off Tony).
I am glad to report that I had actually left before the latter. But Terence hadn't.
And come Saturday morning, it was a matter of great regret to him. Particularly after his third vomit.
After all, it was a two-and-a-half hour drive from Coleraine to Fermanagh - and the main event.
