Saturday, 9 November 2013


Last night, I enjoyed a few hours down at the Hedsor working man's club. Where Alan stuffed me 3 frames to 0 at snooker. But I didn't mind at all, because I was there for the sheer enjoyment of knocking some expensive ceramic balls around that vast expanse of green table.

It was also "Rock 'n' Roll" night. With a live band. I heard all of the 12 bars of the blues. And the joint was definitely jumping. The oldies seemed to enjoy themselves.

Sadly, the night was marred by two things...

1. Tinned Guinness. which made me feel nauseous.

2. Outside, enjoying a quick ciggie...

Young girl: "This is Sumo... He is lovely!". Bulky woman in too-tight red dress: "No he isn't, Chloe. He's a wet smelly dog". She then smirked at me. Waiting for a reaction. I gave her my best "OH RLY?" look, and thought "That may well be, love. but even so, he *still* has infinitely more pedigree than you!". I'm glad not to have said it out loud. Because that would have given her the reaction she wanted.

He was neither wet, nor smelly. She was just attempting to crush her little girl's love of labradors. Which I thought was un-necessarily cruel. That unpleasant encounter left a far worse taste than the guiness, to be honest.

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