Title! With! Exclamation! Marks! (couldn’t resist)
Gileyboy’s post reminded me of this. Sometimes just a disapproving stare can make you feel way more of a errant child than any hardened bollocking.

The other day I was getting pissed with some mates in a pub (surprise sur-bleeding-prise) but we weren’t in the usual kind of dingy scut-hole that we generally frequent. This was one that had been given a ‘makeover’ (in other words, sucking out all the life and atmosphere and replacing it with crappy sofas, shit artwork and loads of shiny wood (oo-er).

Anyway, this attempt at more sophisticated surroundings did not hinder our common-as-a-dog’s-brown-eye conversation levels. We sat in a booth-type-thing and as the beer flowed, loudly put the world to rights with the kind of sweary, laddish, innuendo-based fucktwattery you’d expect from a conversation involving me.

In a matter of minutes we had jovially discussed sex with:

Men / Women
Front / back bottoms
Animals / Children
Each other

There was a direct line to the bar so we were sorted, but as the afternoon went on, I ‘broke the seal’ and was the first to venture towards the piss palace.

This meant I had to walk past the booth next door…and the couple with young, visibly stunned children sat therein, not enjoying a meal very much.

They didn't say anything, I mean they couldn't really, they must have deduced that there were quite a few pissed up nob-rots about and they didn't know how potentially volatile we were (not very as it goes). However, the glare of the mother alone made me wish that a hole would suddenly appear in the ground, bite me in half, chew a bit, then gob me out into a bucket of lukewarm napalm.

*shudder*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 25 Sep 2007, 13:15, Reply)