Old Bastard
One vaguely sunny Saturday afternoon, the missus and I decided that seeing as it was such a pleasant day, our best plan of action would be to ensconce ourselves in a dingy pub somewhere and get plastered. So off we went and hopped aboard the Toy Town Railway for the short trip south to Greenwich. Now Greenwich can be a really hideous place, full of tourists and students from the local, ahem, "university", but it has some top draw boozers, it was winter so it wasn't too bad on the tourist front and as long as you avoid the Scream pub (piss yellow, big fuck-off version of Jenga, can't miss it), you shouldn't have too many problems.

So, we settle ourselves into the St Christopher (bit shite, but normally quiet) and crack on with the afternoon's drinking. We were only about three or four pints in when I come back from the bar to find some Uncle Albert type sat at the table talking to said missus. This guy is flogging cartons of fags, 15 quid each or 25 for two. Having bought innumerable cartons of fags off blokes in pubs before, my hand was in my pocket quicker than you can say "Lung cancer? Oh yes please sir, but could you make it a large one" and, brandishing a pair of twenties, asked him if he had any change. Before I go further, I should point out this bloke looked the very image of respectability; he had a note book out on the table with a list of names in it, he's scattered a couple of other twenties on the table and he's holding another one up to the light to make sure it's real. Complete pro.

So when this bloke said he didn't have any change on him but if I follow him out of the pub, he'll nip and get some along with the fags and holds out his hand for cash, I don't think anything of it and just hand over 40 quid. I follow him out the pub and he says wait on that bench, I'll be back in a sec and I'll come out of that door there, pointing.

15 minutes later, it finally dawned that I'm never see the old cunt again and the door turns out to be for some children's group or other. Mug? Why yes I am, but if you find yourself in Greenwich and some 5'8"-ish old boy, looking a bit ex-navy, asks you if you want some fags, say "No thanks" and give him a good firm kick in the balls from me.
(Go on , touch it, Tue 20 Feb 2007, 10:43, Reply)