Monday, November 23, 2009
SPUD-U-LIKE
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?
@ 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.
@ 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.
Labels: bittern, foghorn voiced women - awfulness of, getting a life, Kenny Rogers, public house, shovels, tattooed men
