"Shall we go for one? Three is the magic number!": what it's like to spend a day in the pub with Liam Gallagher

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A Louder writer did his professional duty and spent seven hours in the boozer with the Oasis frontman in Christmas week, and it was glorious.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked, "Do you have any positive stories of your interactions with the Gallagher brothers?". Now, sensing that this might be an ambush because I never need to be asked twice to name-drop, I played it tentatively. "Yeah," I said. "Both were really good." My friend might as well have got out a fishing rod for her next response: "I've never heard anyone say anything positive about them."

It didn't take much but that was it, all reluctance dissipated. I've always been one to stick up for the underdog, so how dare she say that about two people who probably don't remember meeting me who are currently in the midst of a global sold-out stadium tour bringing in millions and millions of pounds in revenue?

My interactions with Noel, I explained, were with someone who was always friendly, funny, happy to talk football, if even to avoid the lashing rain - the reason I got a much longer interview than expected backstage at Heaton Park once. I also once hung out with him in New York when I was doing a Coldplay feature, inexplicably finding myself locked into the centre of a seating arrangement around a round table in a dressing room surrounded by him, his then-wife, Coldplay, Gwyneth Paltrow, weirdo magician David Blaine and Leonardo DiCaprio. Like I said, the name-dropping gloves are off!

But I was just getting warmed up. The real answer to the question, "Do you have any positive stories of your interactions with the Gallagher brothers?" is "Yes, I bloody well do, because I once spent a day in the pub with Liam Gallagher. In Christmas week." Look away now, wife and children: it was one of the most glorious days of my life, up there with spending the day with Eddie Vedder at Pearl Jam HQ and Spurs winning the Europa League (I actually really do hope my family aren't reading this).

It was December, 2017, and a triumphant comeback year for Liam, after his post-Beady Eye period out in the cold, was coming to a close. He was now a bona fide solo success and I was trailing him for a few dates on his first arena tour as a solo act for a Q Magazine cover feature.

The shows themselves were brilliant - Liam was playing Oasis classics again and a new generation of fans he'd dubbed the "parka monkeys" were lapping it up - but in terms of any extra-curricular action, it had been a bit dry. Liam was behaving himself on tour, protecting his voice and not drinking - much as I imagine he is right now for the Oasis reunion shows.

At gigs in Cardiff and then Manchester, I'd hardly seen Liam beyond watching him onstage. We had scheduled a sit-down chat in London, a few days after the final date of the tour in Manchester, but I was getting low-key vibes from it. It was scheduled for 11am, hardly a sign that your subject is up for taking you on a big one, and it was taking place in a north London branch of brasserie chain Côte. Or it was meant to, until Liam was spooked by the amount of Christmas parties booked for lunch in there and marched us round to the equally anaemic Café Rouge. Liam ordered a pineapple juice (no ice).

The interview was good, with some classic Liam gold - a few digs at his brother (the two were in the midst of a to-me-to-you back and forth that would continue for a good few years yet), revelling in being back in the limelight and hitting out at anyone he thought had had a dig for the fact he was working with a songwriting team. "I've always had people write the songs for me, so it doesn't feel that different," he declared. "I've been singing other people's lyrics my whole life and I own them. Once I get hold of them, I make them something else. Like Elvis."

Interview done, though, something switched. Maybe because he'd just completed his last professional engagement before Christmas, Liam started rubbing his hands together. "Shall we go for one drink?" he said to his manager, then-girlfriend and now-fiancé Debbie Gwyther. Before Debbie had a chance to answer, he added, "Three is the magic number!". "OK," she said, but with a warning. "Liam, we have to be done by 7pm." I looked at the time on my phone. It was 11.35am. Let the festivities begin!

With a spring in his step, Liam led us down a cobbled street and into one of his favourite Highgate locals, The Flask, Liam ordering a pint of Guinness with a shot of port in it. "Christmas week, I love it," he beamed, taking a big sip.

He makes for fantastic pub company. Sometimes he'd ask a question and answer himself, then answer himself again, and then eventually it seems like he's on the cusp of starting a row with himself, or he'd imagine what his detractors might say about him, putting on a voice to imitate them, and then unfurl a ready-made reply. I'm assuming he'd seen someone say on Twitter, 'You should grow up', because that was on his mind. "What does that mean?" he wondered aloud. "Turn into a c*** like you? Nah, I'll think I'll stay down here mate."

More pints, more chat, more anecdotes. After asking what else I'd been working on recently, I told him I'd just done a big Depeche Mode cover story and he recalled the time he was in a cab in LA when it came on the radio that frontman Dave Gahan had suffered a cardiac arrest at the infamous Viper Club. The problem was, Gahan was slumped next to him in the taxi at the time.

"I nudged him with my elbow, 'Oi, you alright?!'," Liam laughed. "He's fine! I said to the driver, 'That's bollocks that is, mate'. We went to my hotel room and carried on for another four hours."

As we kept drinking and the hours started to roll by, his psychedelic train of thought became ever more entertaining. He spent a good 10 minutes explaining how he was perturbed by an Australian interviewer who had said to him this morning, "See you next week" - Liam was heading there on tour 10 days later.

"I'm not going there til next Friday, which is 10 days away, so how can that be next week?" he said. Because, I replied, the week goes from Sunday to Sunday. They were right, they will see you next week.

"Nah man," he said, shaking his head. "How many days in a week?".

Seven, I answered.

"So how can next Friday, ten days away, be next week? I'll see them the week after next. They won't be seeing me next week, man. No way."

This went on, until we changed the subject and started talking about what our death row dinners would be. Liam said his was a Sunday roast, but then added that he loves sprouts so much he could just have them on his own. Which is quite mad really.

Switching to spirits, Liam opting for a rum and coke, we all decide he should go for next year's Christmas number one. We head outside to get some air and Liam decides we should get a photo, planting a kiss on my cheek. Before we know it, 7pm - which felt so long ago earlier - is now upon us. He finishes his last rum and coke and darts a look at Debbie and says, "Shall we do one?".

We head outside into the crisp cold, Liam, Debbie and their gang piling into a cab. Earlier that day, we'd spoken about if he'd ever consider an Oasis reunion and, at that moment, he'd said, no, why would he need to? But he couldn't resist a wind-up. Just 20 minutes later I open Twitter to see a new post from him. "I wanna say Happy Xmas to team NG," he writes, addressing his brother. "It's been a great year, thanks for everything, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow." As it happens, that meet-up would take another seven or so years to transpire, but it was worth the wait. Oasis are out there making new memories for legions of diehards around the world - I saw them last week and it's one of the best gigs I've ever seen. So, positive stories about the Gallagher brothers? Yeah, here's one. I don't mind dining out on it for a while yet...