So went to the pub tonight, Kieran my Irish friend called round earlier, said he was going on and I said I’d probably be meandering on there soon. The pub is full of stranger type morons, never seen in the pub before and hopefully never again, shouting and a hollering playing this horse race game, the names of which I think would of quite possibly embarrassed Kenneth Williams at his worst but done with such little panache and style my immediate reaction was a pre 1940’s Hitler youth type party without the obvious intelligence needed to evolve that sort of emotion. There’s a guy shouting at the side of the bar, microphone in hand, commentating on the race as such, I’m looking around at this point because somewhere else would be a small paradise. Kieran catches my eye, lets me know he has just dropped his hand down low and has produced a small gun, an automatic, European in manufacture quite likely the one you would carry get in a John le Carre book. Pointing at the guy who is “Whooping and a Hollering” very quietly pulls the trigger targeted at the small of his back. Result. I genuinely applaud this action but can’t help thinking of something more. My mind goes into, “Pull out the 357 Magnum as in Dirty Harry, “Do you feel lucky punk? or even better the gun stashed in the bog in The Godfather when Al Pacino which the spell checker can’t get right or whatever they called him shot the guy in the head. I’m with Kieran on this one.
Posted on: Sat, 25 Oct 2014 00:20:48 +0000
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