My Friday night led on from a hard day’s mooching about and a shortish hospital visit. The youngster didn’t fancy joining the old man, so he returned to study some more. He tries to make me feel guilty about my perceived idleness, but I’m not going to interrupt my nap to respond to that kind of youthful provocation.
I had a lunchtime pint at a pub called the Moot House (or something like that) and noticed that they had live music that evening – Voodoo Sheiks. The Antelope serves some nice dry cider which I felt duty bound to sample. A Portuguese Bostonian was annoying a young barman. I struck up a conversation with him while I waited for nothing in particular to occur to me. His crowd were drinking screwdrivers – each to his own.
Wandering off to the live gig, I embraced the chilly evening air like an old friend from the North…it was cold. The pub was empty which was a shame because the band were hot and bluesy. Boom boom boom boom…if you get my drift…the man can play that harmonica.