Phew, that's that one out of the way and I didn't get arrested or deported. A good weekend and, oddly, I can remember virtually all of it. Thank you to Fred for the bed, Louise for dinner and bed and to Lord Ashley of Slawston for the pic, the first of the day (St Peter's Mild) at the Jerusalem Tavern in Clerkenwell on Friday. Great beer, great pub. We ended up some nine hours later at the Scarsdale in Kensington, dribbling over unattainable young totty. Well, I was anyway. Back on the wagon now for a few days.
10 comments:
Nice glass of Coca-Cola there Ron. Obviously you are being abstemious as there is no slice of lemon....
At first glance that looks a lot like a straw. Was it a straw? Was it Ron?
I think it's part of the chair back Fred. But it could be a straw, he kept going on "Don't let me drink too much Shagger". Still, he's got it coming to him now, revealing the secret location of Ashley Towers. Paparazzi on the front lawn now.
"Don't let me drink too much Shagger"...two points come out of this - one, I love the way in which all blame for bad behaviour, subsequent illness, etc can be passed so smartly to another, and two -please tell us how the thoroughly respectable ice cream salesman of yore (if indeed it is he) came to acquire the soubriquet 'shagger'?
It's a long story Jon (isn't it always) but basically (in my book anyway) there are three of us, including Ron, from long times past who just refer to each other as 'Shagger'. Others try to muscle in on this term of endearment, and at Ron's wedding to the gorgeous pouting Mrs.Combo a photographer said "Right. Now the Shaggers" and twenty blokes jostled into his frame. "Er, I don't think so", shouted Ron, and seventeen were despatched to the fringes, muttering darkly.
Sounds a bit like my second wedding; the photographer said "Where is the the Bride's Father?" and four old guys moved forward......
I see...all three of you deserve the soubriquet.
I am glad you had a great weekend...but was the snow still there when you got home?
I was going to rebuke you for not coming to my pub for a pint (I serve beer with a head, btw - that one's as flat as a witch's tit), but then of course you were here on the weekend.
BUT HOLD ON! The JT is closed on weekends too! What gives, Combo?
Fair cop, Signor Stonch, I was using the term weekend in the Italian sense, in that it runs from Thursday until Tuesday. And for a pre-luncheon sharpener we popped into the JT. Next time, we'll come to you for a decent pint of Landlord. With a head.
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