This evening I went with Mr. Watkins to The George pub again. Prior to meeting him at the train station in town I had half an hour to kill so wandered up and down the high street.
It must be a full moon tonight as all the weirdos were out in Bath. First of all a load of freaks were staggering up and down shouting out random obscenities, it was like a whole group of drugged up Petes from Big Brother (you know, the one who randomly shouts out “wanker!”). I carefully avoided them. Had I been cornered I am sure they would have raped and then killed me. It must have been a day out at the loony asylum.
After safely getting to the station there were yet more nutters. A gang of half naked hooligans staggering about the place, spilling lager, pissing everywhere and approaching random people asking them for money, all of whom tried to back off awkwardly. I managed to avoid them too, I didn’t want to give them any money to fuel their drinks binge. What do they think I am? A walking dole office?
Watkins turned up shortly after and we headed for the station’s taxi rank. Then I saw the driver in the cab… I couldn’t believe it. It was the same one from last week – the old, dirty Uncle Albert geezer with the foul mouth and erratic driving. I wanted to avoid him and turn back, taking my chances with the pissheads but it was too late, Greengrass had spotted us and we had to climb aboard.
The taxi driver I simply cannot avoid
Anyway, to cut a long story short we made it to the pub. Like last week it was very busy and we had to wait a long time for our food to arrive. It was worth it. I had a chicken, asparagus and crème sauce dish, it was very nice. Watkins had the common mans meal of sausage and mash (yes, the dish I had last week).
The only other event to be noted from the evening is that I owe Mr. Watkins one prank. He tricked and caused me a great deal of embarrassment this evening…
It was my round, while at the bar ordering drinks I asked for a Carling. The Aussie barmaid assured me that the pub did not sell this type of beer. I was a little confused at this point as I was sure I had been drinking Carling for the last half hour (out of a Carling glass!) – Watkins had bought it for me. When I pointed this out to the barmaid I was told they just use the branded glasses and certainly don’t sell my favoured lager. Watkins had tricked me! He had tricked my mouth, taste buds and brain that Fosters was actually Carling! I fell for it and humiliated myself at the bar. I owe you Mr. Watkins. I will get you.
It may look like Carling, it may taste like Carling, but it is not Carling
The evening ended and Watkins and I caught a taxi home. No escape measures had to be undertaken this time as Mr. White was not there. The taxi had a faint smell of detergent and vomit which lead to thoughts of what ghastly event had taken place in my seat the previous evening. No doubt somebody received a £100 fine for soiling. Maybe it was Mr. White?
Upon recent investigation of my new pets, I have learnt that fish really are quite disgusting animals. This gives me even more reason not to change from my current stance of avoiding eating their meat.
I am watching one of them now, swimming happily around the tank with an inch of fasces hanging from its rear. Now, as I am yet to install a lavatory and sewage system into the tank the fish are doing their business wherever, that I don’t have a problem with. What is really disgusting is that one of the other fish is chasing the shitting fish around the tank, trying to eat it’s poop. Surely that’s not normal?
Imagine if people did the same, it would be the end of society as we know it…
This evening I went to The Pig and Fiddle pub in the centre of Bath. Not a bad place to go really, although it can get rather busy, the pub does has a slight added interest for me though as the landlord is a Leeds fan and has signed shirts and memorabilia on the walls.
I went along with Mr. White, the same fellow renowned for his dangerous house parties (see below).
Now, over the years I have gone with Mr. White to pubs more times than I care to remember. I normally always have a good laugh, however when the evening draws to a close, the situation is always the same and a recent blog entry from DanintheMix will back me up on this…
What I would call an end of the evening (10.30-11.30pm), White would not, in fact the night is only getting started for him at this time. When I try to leave at this time there is trouble.
In recent years I have mastered a means of escape by secretly booking a taxi and excusing myself for a toilet break, only to climb aboard and piss off home. The trouble this evening was that we were all sat outside of the pub, right next to the main road. It would have been impossible to board a taxi and get away without Mr. White noticing. Had I made a run for it he would have probably thrown a beer glass at the back of my head and then chopped my foot off like Kathy Bates in Misery, therefore making any future escape attempts a tad more difficult.
As as it’s not even 1am and I am alive, home and blogging it is obvious that this evening’s story has a happy ending and I did manage to get away. Here’s how I did it, in what I like to call THE GREAT ESCAPE II
The Pig and Fiddle pub may be road side but it has a front and a back entrance, we were sat out in the back. It was coming up to 11pm and I thought I would call it a night. White obviously wanted to carry on drinking so any suggestion of leaving would have gone down like a lead balloon. So, I got up casually and informed the drunkard that I needed to go to the toilet. Luckily he bought this excuse (he was actually very gullible as I had only just come back from a genuine call of nature 5 minutes previous).
Instead of heading for the lavatories I escaped out of the front entrance of the pub and hurried, speedily to the nearby taxi rank. Luckily there was a cab waiting and I hopped aboard.
Now, White may be many things but he is a good bloke and had I not returned to the table he would have got concerned. I had to send him a text message to tell him of my escape and that I was OK. Within seconds of sending the SMS I got a reply “Watch out im on hunt for you !” (note: his poor grammer, not mine).
Now, even though I was in a taxi I was a little scared. I was still in town and the driver was heading towards none other than The Pig and Fiddle pub! How terrible would it be if the driver stopped at the traffic lights just opposite The Pig and Fiddle table? White would have spotted me, ran towards the car, smashing the passenger window and hurling me thorough it by my neck.
Thankfully the taxi driver took an alternate route at the last minute and I made it home safe and well. I am yet to hear anymore from Mr. White this evening. Maybe he is running up and down the streets of Bath still looking for me in a fit of rage! I think I’ll put the extra lock on the door tonight and sleep with the air pistol under my pillow in case he breaks into my flat and tries to get me back into town to drink more beer with him. I will lie in fear all night.
As an upstanding citizen I feel it is my duty to inform the local constabulary of the fact that Mr. White has been given the full run of his house. His mother, father and pair of dogs have packed up and left Bath for a few weeks – residents of Southdown beware.
For those of you not in the know, Mr. White is well known for throwing parties where anything goes – assault, murder, fire, rape, terrorism, OK, maybe not rape, but all those other crimes have taken place at one point or another.
Over many years experience, I have learnt how can attend the festivities yet still avoid the inevitable horror show. This can be achieved by staying away from any drug abuse activity, limiting alcohol intake, hiding any knives/bayonets/weapons and avoiding climbing onto the roof or any other part of the building.
It is also essential to leave by 11.30pm. Like in the movie Aliens where the little girl advises Sigourney Weaver “They mostly come out at night… mostly”, well it is at this time, the witching hour that the trouble kicks off. Alcohol and illegal substances enter the bloodstream and all hell breaks loose. At that point I like to be in a taxi heading home, or better still back at the flat with the doors locked and the phone on silent.
Something I forgot to mention earlier this evening. While I was in the pub, minding my own business, watching the game and enjoying a pint I was approached by a shaven headed stranger who knew my name.
The first few seconds of the encounter with this stranger caused a moments panic. This panic soon dispersed when I realised the said stranger was harmless. I then felt a little embarrassed, he knew me, I didn’t know him, however from his approach I should have known him like an old friend.
I had to ask who he was as I wasn’t going to start chatting to somebody I didn’t know, pretending to know them – that would have inevitably ended in even more awkwardness, I’ve seen enough sitcoms to know that.
Turns out that I went to school with him 8 years ago, I still can’t remember who he was or recognise him. Either my brain is aging rapidly and I am losing my memory or he has aged rapidly and I am keeping my boyish looks.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
