Tales From the Pub # I Lose Track Now.
Sat at the bar on this occasion. Me at one end, Old Guy at the End Of the Bar at the other.
I am sipping my drink, staring into space, wishing everything was different but knowing it won't be.
A girl, eighteen if she's a day, comes up to order a drink.
Tall, dark, fuck-off look about her. I've seen her a few times. She has one of those fantastic faces. Could so easily be ugly, could so easily be beautiful. And just wavers in between. Brilliant. Massive knockers, tiny waist. I say this totally impartially of course, having been ruined for all other women. But I'm not blind. Anyway, she reminds me of someone.
Old Guy fancies himself this evening. He leans over.
Old Guy: Y'naw hen, ye've got a body off of BayWatch.
She is clearly less-than-bowled-over by the amorous attentions of a man at least five times her age, who is visibly pissed, and appears to have the bulk of his Sunday lunch down his shirt front.
Old Guy is a bit narked about the fact that this young lady has not immediately swooned at his best line. I wait with baited breath. My God, I think, any second now he is going to call her a lesbian.
I am wrong.
Old Guy: Aye. And a face off of bliddy CrimeWatch.
Girl: [without any obvious malice or anger] Oh fuck off will you.
I finish my drink and leave.