The landlord at our local, let’s call him Charlie, is a personable enough chap. I’ve not been going there for donkeys years like some of the locals, but he’s always got time for a quick chat and I’ve finally got to the stage with him where I can ask for a pint of the ‘usual’. This in itself is a milestone in any mans life, see here for what makes you THE man, but being well known enough in your local pub to be in the position of never having to name your choice of beverage ever again definitely makes you A man. It’s a right of passage. Much like losing your virginity, in that you feel like a proper, fully-functioning adult afterward – except without the obvious embarrassment, sweating, braces and nagging thought at the back of your mind that you should get home pronto to scrub your balls with Domestos, as choosing Sharon, the local bike, probably wasn’t the best choice the first time you parked the beef bus in tuna town. Though to be honest, the choices were limited in those days when all you could afford was two tickets to Pretty Woman and a jumbo box of popcorn.

Anyway, I digress.

It’s not all sweetness and light with Charlie. Last night he told me, “You’ll never guess who we had in here last night?” (more…)

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The landlord at our local, let’s call him Charlie, is a personable enough chap. I’ve not been going there for donkeys years like some of the locals, but he’s always got time for a quick chat and I’ve finally got to the stage with him where I can ask for a pint of the ‘usual’. This in itself is a milestone in any mans life, see here for what makes you THE man, but being well known enough in your local pub to be in the position of never having to name your choice of beverage ever again definitely makes you A man. It’s a right of passage. Much like losing your virginity, in that you feel like a proper, fully-functioning adult afterward – except without the obvious embarrassment, sweating, braces and nagging thought at the back of your mind that you should get home pronto to scrub your balls with Domestos, as choosing Sharon, the local bike, probably wasn’t the best choice the first time you parked the beef bus in tuna town. Though to be honest, the choices were limited in those days when all you could afford was two tickets to Pretty Woman and a jumbo box of popcorn.

Anyway, I digress.

It’s not all sweetness and light with Charlie. Last night he told me, “You’ll never guess who we had in here last night?” (more…)

No tags