10/10/2005 12:29:00 PM|||James O'Malley|||

I had a lovely evening last night - I went out with my friends. In fact, it was something of a "pub-crawl".

We went to two pubs.

I met JD, Charlie (she's a girl with a man's name), and Heggs (he's a man with a sur's name), at The Greyhound- which you might remember that I went to before with the aforementioned JD, and Matt. It hasn't changed much. Again, there were very few people there- apart from us, there were three old men sitting, alone, at the bar, drinking slowly. They glanced at us, the outsiders, as if to say, "What are you doing in our public house?"- I'd imagine if they had actually said it, they may have pronouced "doing" as "doon", and "our" as "are". Maybe even "what" was "wod".

We bought some drinks and I did something I've only ever done once before: I bought a drink at a bar. To make it look like I knew what I was doing, and to emphasise that I wasn't a chronic alcoholic (I was drinking Coke, for a start), I leaned against the bar to look casual and relaxed, whilst sort-of balancing on one leg, to show that I still had self control.

I had a game of Table Skittles with Charlie. It went on for literally forever (slight exaggeration) because we were so awful. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the game (like me approximately 16 hours ago), imagine ten-pin bowling, and instead of rolling a ball, you're throwing a projectile. Needless to say, I'm surprised I didn't break anything. The important point is that against all odds, I ended up winning.

We didn't even have to settle it with a pub brawl- I think that's a publican tradition that I'm going to have to wait until next time to have a go at.

Heggs, being the enterprising business man that he is, tried to sell me a book to help fund his gap year. He was practically throwing away a perfectly good piece of Idi Amin satire for fifty pence. Or at least, he wouldn't have done, if I hadn't bartered him upto £1.10. I think I get this particular negotiation skill from my mother. (There's a dull anecdote attached to that, that isn't worth writing).

After thrashing the others at Pool (whatever they say is lies), we moved on to the second pub of the evening- The Cherry Tree, which is just across the road. For those of you keeping tabs on my pub trips- perhaps with the use of the Google Maps API, it was the same pub that I went to on A-level results day, and to the Wilkinson quiz.

It was much busier than The Greyhound, but in an uninteresting contrast, the ceiling was much lower down. After the high-ceilinged caffeine-fueled exploits at the Greyhound, I suddenly felt like a giant (due to my head being nearer to the ceiling).

Because it was busier, and I was apparently a giant, I had to push my way through crowds of people, and dip my head lower than usual to pass through door ways without hitting anything. I'd have roared with laughter, in a gianty "I'm going to eat you because I'm a giant with very few ethics, and nothing but contempt for the rule of law" sort of way, but I already felt somewhat out of place- I was in a pub. And everyone else was of normal height, too.

The others decided that they wanted a curry, so off we walked through the town, late at night... on a Sunday! This is unusual for me as my Sunday nights are usually spent whistling to the Panorama theme tune and rocking back and fourth, hunched up in a ball, crying waiting for someone to talk to me on MSN.

Thinking about it, being out in the evening is unusual for me, so maybe I should italicise some more?

The others decided that they wanted a curry, so off we walked through the town, late at night... on a Sunday! I don't think the curry place was very pleased to see them- it was 2250 at night, and they were ten minutes away from closing, and now they had to fire up all of the kitchen equipment again and work harder.

We then walked upto Heggs' house, and he held an impromptu social occasion that late at night- and his parents didn't even mind. My parents, who I know are reading this: take note.

The exciting thing about his house was that not only did he have an old map of the local area, showing that my village (Heather, take note there... readers, don't ask) was in fact, at one time, in Northamptonshire, but he had a Weetabix dictionary that had been censored- it contained no swear words, nor "Weetabix".

Overall, it was a thoroughly enjoyable evening, and fingers crossed I'll have another pub-tale to bore you with again soon!

|||112894470868963939|||Night on the town