“I’d like two pints of John Smiths and a packet of chicken flavoured crisps please.”, I politely asked.

“Sure, just a minute”, responded the clearly mental barmaid.

I could tell she was mental as I have a sixth sense about these things. I can smell a mong from twenty paces.

I was at the clubhouse of a golf course at the weekend and ordering a couple of 19th hole pints for my playing partner and I. I was celebrating after holing a Salman Rushdie on the last (a long difficult read). Two pints. A simple task you’d imagine, but it was clearly not to be. Rather than begin serving me the drinks she wrote down the items and began adding them up.. (more…)

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