Monday, November 23, 2009


Catalogue of *revellers* in public house on Saturday night.

@ 1 no. group of smartly dressed young men of the type that look as if they would knife you if they didn't like wot you was inferring abaaht them. Possibly followers of one of the more affluent football clubs.

@ 1 no. blonde streak-haired woman in heavy framed burgundy spectacles and too-vivid claret coloured lipstick. Possibly minor glamour model in late 1970's who got local work because she was dating a photographer who was twenty years older than her. Probably a bitter divorcee.

@ 1 no. friend of blonde streak-haired woman. Jane Fonda in Klute wig.

@ 1 no. woman with appalling foghorn voice that booms and carries over a further distance than the call of the Bittern over the Norfolk broads. REALLY, CAN'T PEOPLE 'EEEEAR THEMSELVES?

Once bittern ...

@ 1 no. group of anonymous "smart casual" men in their fifties.

@ 1 no. middle aged woman in check shirt and suede boots. At one point, she and the foghorn voiced woman sing ALL OF THE WORDS of Islands In The Stream by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton together. Is this a middle aged women's bonding thing? Why is it that I don't know all of the words of Islands In The Stream? Once again in life, I feel as if something is wrong with me.

@ 1 young couple who are attached at the hip for most of the night and keep themselves to themselves. There is always one such young couple in every old lags' pub in Britain. Thankfully, this pair didn't slobber over each other. All credit to them.

@ 1 portly middle aged bloke in all black with tattooed forearms. He was having a conversation with the group of anonymous smart casual men THEN SOMETHING KICKED OFF. Nobody knows what started it. Several of the women pile in to hold men back, in time honoured fashion. The male menopause shouldn't stand in the way of a good ruck, of course, but the tattooed man saunters off and out of the pub.

We are informed ten minutes later that the non-ruck was "the talk of the town" in the smokers' corner outside. The tattooed man "has a reputation as a mentalist" and the words "wot did you say to my wife?" were heard.

The next time that someone tells me I should go out on a weekend night because staying in means that I'm a stick in the mud who doesn't have a life, I won't say anything.

I'll just go out to the garden, get a shovel, walk back inside and thump the person who has said it in the face repeatedly with said shovel.

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I returned to booze after three weeks off this weekend. This reminds me why I drink indoors, at home, cackling at the wallpaper.
I had a not dissimilar experience last weekend, DJing in the pub with a friend, as we regularly do. Bunch of lads spend the entire evening coming up and giving me helpful suggestions such as "When are you going to play something good?" They harassed all of the girls who'd come to hear me and my friend DJ. One of them tried to kick off about some beer being spilt... on the floor... near him. But being that the pub was full of Guardian reading Islingonites, everyone just ignored him.

Eventually, when they realised I wasn't going to play 50 Cent, they went to the pub over the road, where they would. Later in the evening I heard that there'd been a stabbing over there. I really hope one of them was the victim.

The whole affair made me question why on earth I bother.
I prefer gay bars where the worst that can happen is wig-pulling.
Did someone say "Leave 'im, Gary, he ain't worth it!".

I understand that's what happened.
Ironically, a Shovel is actually DESIGNED to be a stick in the mud!!!

Chortle and indeed Chortle!!!

Why don't you just invite the Tatood man and Foghorn Leghorn round for a Swiss Fondur party?
Where's that pub - it sounds great.
I'll seeya there next Saturday Rog.
You should move to Scotland.

The pubs here are venues for poetry recitals and intense existential philosophy discussions. It's just like the Parisian Left Bank, except for the head buttings and the glassings.
It's very well behaved in Austin, TX. Probably because you never know who's packin'. Seems to work.
Fotos! Fotos! I want to see the colorful nightclub British people!

Sometimes, going out is a crapshoot--there's a chance you end up in a crap place or someone'll start to shoot! At least it seems that way to all the sketchy places I've been to every now and then.
Boz - Hell, I couldn't stay off the booze for three weeks and haven't done so since I reached adulthood.

Del - Problem is that you assume young blokes will grow out of that sort of behaviour, but even the older men seem to get into fights these days. In a few years' time they'll be glassing each other in the British Legion.

MJ - Perhaps I should've pulled off the wig of the Jane Fonda-in-Klute woman, then run away very quickly.

Billy - I didn't hear the "he ain't wurrfit" comments but that was my first guess too.
Rog - the combination of the Tattooed Man, Foghorn Voiced Woman and Swiss Fondue sounds like a marriage made in 1970's hell. Besides which, I don't own a hostess trolley.

Kaz - on Bexleyheath Broadway. It's the only pub in the town centre with a clientele older than about 19.

Garfer - there is beauty amidst the madness. I once overheard someone say to his friend "so - you are into the modern philosophy and that?" at closing time in one local pub, so perhaps there is a bohemian quarter in the Bexley borough.

Arabella - I'm sure that things are going that way in Britain too. Apparently someone took a nail gun into one town centre pub! Think I might put a stapler and a pair of nail scissors into my handbag when I'm next out. You never know what could happen ...

Eroswings - there are some wonderfully horrible pictures online of the aftermath of a night out in, I think, Cardiff that would put anyone off visiting Britain and having a night out. Fair enough, there's less likelihood of being shot but no doubt that'll change in a few years' time.
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