Tag Archives: pub

Psychopaths In The Pub

A very good evening to you all on an evening which is still muggy, despite some rain. I am not complaining about the heat because it will be winter soon enough (August-May) and we don’t see enough sun in this country. But that is not the point of my missive this evening – I leave meteorological predictions to those more knowledgeable than I, such as the rather lovely Tomasz Schafernaker on the BBC.

No, a rather more serious situation has arisen within the last half hour, much more serious than my original choice of topic, which was bicarbonate of soda, which I bought for the first time today. I had to search for the ‘Baking’ section of Sainsbury’s to find it and, as many of you will know, this is not a section I visit frequently – in fact, this was another first!

Before I get to the ‘serious situation’, however, I just need to ask if this is ‘Males Talking to Each Other in VERY Loud Voices’ Day? Having been in two pubs this evening with a sibling, in both we have come across large groups of males (or, even, groups of large males) speaking to each other in extremely loud voices, talking across each other as if they were appearing on Question Time, but with no David Dimbleby to calm them down or point to a member of the audience – ‘Yes, you, the lady in the pink spectacles. Yes, you. Oh, sorry, the MAN in pink spectacles’ – to ask for an opinion which is usually totally incomprehensible because the selected audience member turns into a ‘rabbit in the headlights’ and forgets all the arguments they had carefully marshalled before being asked to speak. Everyone else then boos or claps, depending on how much they’ve drunk, and the Daily Mail representative on the panel looks either very ANNOYED or very SMUG, depending on how much they’ve drunk. Piers Morgan, if he’s on the panel, just manages to look smug AND drunk.

But I digress … I now move onto the ‘serious situation’. I am typing this VERY QUIETLY because I think a PSYCHOPATH has walked into the pub and ordered a pint of Carling (that’s one clue for a start). You may remember that, a couple of years ago, I wrote an article about recognising an AXE MURDERER, although I found no correlation between this and the fact that I was reading a book about an axe murderer at the time, and I find the same lack of coincidence between the book I am currently reading (about a psychopath) and the man who has just walked into the bar… He looks ordinary, but I have finely tuned senses (often heightened by alcohol) for spotting these types. He looks mild-mannered, but the denim Jeremy Corbyn-type cloth cap and denim jacket are the real giveaway. WHO would wear double denim unless they were a psychopath, especially in a heatwave? AND he whispered when he ordered his Carling (although that could just be embarrassment) – psychopaths ALWAYS whisper. I shall make sure that he leaves the pub before me (not difficult) and I will send the aforementioned sibling ahead of me to ensure that he becomes the psychopath’s victim rather than me.
Enjoy the rest of your evening. And sleep well!

Quizzical

A very good evening to you, beloved believers, as I sit and listen to possibly the worst karaoke version of ‘Killing Me Softly’ I have ever heard in my life.
It seems so LONG since I last offered any advice on living life to the full and I realise some of you may be wondering if my inspiration has dried up and if you will have to search elsewhere for another guru to guide you through life’s thickets and tangled undergrowth. FEAR NOT! I have been a little busy of late – shopping, lunch, shopping, lunch, visit to Doncaster, shopping, lunch, shopping, lunch, visit to Oldbury (near Birmingham), shopping… you get the idea. Actually, I had written a piece for you on being pretentious in a taxi, but I can’t find it now, so that will have to be for another time.
As you know, I have a vague, passing interest in quizzes, but FEAR NOT! I am not about to test you on your knowledge of geography or sport or the first ten presidents of the USA (although I am sure there are those among you who actually know this! Why?). No, I am going to ask you to contemplate the responses of a team of bright young things in a recent quiz at my local. Actually, when I say ‘bright young things’, I’m lying – one of those words is incorrect, but I leave it to you to decide which one.

quizzical

And FEAR NOT! I am not going to spend time bemoaning the dismal lack of knowledge of today’s generation, as so many others do. That is unfair to those who do have a wide-ranging general knowledge as well as a good understanding of politics, economics, history, philosophy, literature, maths, socio-economics, business, psychology, chiropody, finance, neurosurgery, rocket science…

Here we go:
Questionmaster: What is a John Dory?
Bright Young Things: A tandoori? It’s an oven; yes, put down ‘oven’. They use it in Indian restaurants. Tandoori chicken, that sort of thing.

Q: Who is the patron saint of animals?
BYT: Anoraks? Patron saint of anoraks?
Another BYT: No, it was ‘patron saint of adenoids’. I’m sure it was. Who’s the patron saint of adenoids?
Another BYT: What are adenoids?

Q: The giant panda is the symbol of which organisation?
BYT: Chinese panda? It’d be the symbol of China. Yes, put China.

Q: What are the first three words in the Bible?
BYT: I know, I know – Book of Genesis! (You can’t fault the logic here!)

Before you accuse me of making fun of a group of BYT with hearing difficulties (as if I would!), let me explain that the reason they didn’t hear some of the questions correctly was because they were constantly talking, even when the questions were being asked. Needless to say, they didn’t do very well, but FEAR NOT! They had a jolly good time and found it hilarious (and not unexpected) that they came last.
As they were leaving the pub, one of them was still asking who the patron saint of adenoids was and another was saying, ‘No, no; anoraks, not adenoids.’

Sleep well, dearest devotees. May your dreams be free of anoraks and adenoids (unless you’re Philip K Dick, in which case, you may dream of ‘android sheep’!). 😁

The Party’s Over

Camilo Ayala

Great Sadness

It is with great sadness and an aching heart (but an immense sense of relief) that I have to announce that I no longer regard myself as a PARTY ANIMAL. How has it come to this, you may ask yourself. How can the Lifestyle Support Guru have reached this sorry state? What momentous event can have caused this? Let me tell you…

DODO and I decided that we would venture into the city centre to sample the bright lights of a Saturday night, something we had not done for some time. THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

We started in a new ‘games pub’ where everyone was playing board games, which wasn’t so bad, although it’s not how I personally would have chosen to spend my Saturday nights when I was in my twenties (or thirties, or forties, or…).
Looking for something just a touch more lively, we moved on to a Latin-American-themed establishment. THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

At first we were ignored by the bar staff, who probably thought we were the cleaners and had arrived early. After getting served (we were the only ones not drinking cocktails), we managed to get a seat and gazed around at the clientele. I came to a number of conclusions:
i) Too many women were wearing dresses at least one size too small
ii) Too many women had failed to purchase ‘no VPL’ (no Visible Panty Line) underwear to go under their small dresses
iii) Too many women had not practised walking in stilettos before coming out for the night
iv) Too many women were too concerned about flicking their hair alluringly over their shoulder then looking round to see who’d seen them do it
v) Too many women were ‘shaking their booty’ – not a pretty sight in a dress two sizes too small, and quite unnerving for DODO because they were ‘shaking it’ in his face. He almost choked on his beer!

I am all for self-expression and not judging others, but there are limits… I doubt very much that the young woman with the VERY large bust and VERY narrow hips wearing a VERY short, tight dress with large flowers (possibly peonies or cabbage roses) on it had intended to look like a drag queen… THIS WAS A MISTAKE.

But there has been one final ‘event’ that has settled it in my mind that my PARTY ANIMAL days are finished. I was preparing a gourmet Sunday lunch (fish and chips – or ‘frites’, since they were from M&S) for myself and DODO. It was as I was lifting out the baking tray to turn the ‘frites’ over halfway through cooking, as per the instructions (is there a knack to this? They seem to end up on the floor or not turned over unless I use my fingers, which HURTS!) that a thought sprang unbidden into my mind – ‘Hmm, I could do with some new oven gloves.’ NEW OVEN GLOVES? NEW OVEN GLOVES? NEVER in the LSG’s long(ish) and illustrious life have oven gloves ever featured in any significant way. And certainly not on a Sunday afternoon with lunch and a glass of wine waiting.

And that, beloved believers, is when I realised that my PARTY ANIMAL days are finally over. One cannot allow PARTY ANIMAL and OVEN GLOVES to exist in the same mind. I am off to the Aga shop tomorrow…
THIS MAY BE A MISTAKE.

Technology Unplugged

I make no apologies for producing another LSG post so soon after the last one, but I felt I needed to do something to occupy my brain while partaking of a refreshing glass of wine in a local establishment where the New Seekers are playing over the speakers, including the occasional Christmas song (although they are currently in the middle of ‘We Shall Not Be Moved’).
Why does my brain need to be occupied? – because I have just given up on the book I started reading yesterday – the second Sophie Hannah book I have felt obliged to abandon after just a few chapters. If you’re going to write a psychological thriller, get on with it – don’t get all pretentious and long-winded; that doesn’t add to the suspense, it just annoys me! Book review finished.
So what better way to occupy my unexpected spare time than to share with you some of my experiences with technology in the home? As you know, I now have an ‘ironing’ television – not one that irons for me sadly (no, I don’t mean that it irons for me sadly, but that, sadly, it doesn’t iron for me), but one I can watch while ironing in the back room because there is no room in the front room now that DODO is convalescing at home, although he also has a television in his room, but that seems reserved mainly for music videos, whereas the downstairs front room television is for ‘proper’ television such as THE NEWS and A Question of Sport. (The New Seekers have now moved on to ‘Danny Boy’, if you’re interested).

When I switched on the ironing television (which runs on a Fire Stick), nothing happened, even though it had been working perfectly the previous day. (Another digression – a female frequenter of the pub has just said that ‘dogs never forget’ – I think she may have partaken of one too many vodkas and is confusing dogs with elephants; they both have four legs, so an easy mistake, I suppose)

Anyway, DODO had a quick look at the television then switched the ‘downstairs’ Fire Stick for the ‘upstairs’ Fire Stick (i.e. the one in his room) and behold! – everything worked again! No, I don’t know what he did, either, but I think I may now be hooked on ‘Only Connect’ – Victoria Coren-Mitchell’s sense of humour is just delightful! I shall have to find more ironing!
However, technology can defeat us all, I’m sorry to say, even DODO, whom I regard as having one of the greatest technological minds on the planet – along with TOFU and my female siblings; in fact, I am the only member of my immediate family who knows little more than how to switch on a computer (and the iron and the microwaves and the dishwasher and…).

DODO has been having a clear-out in his room and the carpet needed hoovering, so this evening he asked if the small handheld hoover was fully charged. I suggested he’d be better using the upright cordless to cover a bigger area, so he carried it up to his room while I settled at the computer in my room. I could hear no sound of the hoover being used, but I could hear a strange swishing sound, so I went to his room and found him sweeping the cordless hoover over the carpet, not realising it wasn’t just a carpet sweeper! Oh, how I laughed! (Tears streaming down my face, in fact!) He agreed that it worked much better when it was switched on! (And no, it wasn’t a ploy to get me to do the hoovering because he thinks women are much better at that sort of thing than men – this is DODO, not Godfrey Bloom [the UKIP guy who condemned women for not cleaning behind their cookers!]. DODO would never condemn me for not cleaning behind the cooker, since he would never do it himself. TOFU, however…😂)

The music has now changed to Bread (we’ve got the original vinyl album) and the ‘dogs never forget’ vodka drinker has gone home, so I no longer need to occupy my mind, and the first episode of ‘Trust Me’ calls, so I shall end here and wish you all a very good evening, especially since I have an early morning appointment tomorrow for CACAC (Coffee And Crumpets At Costa).

Sleep well and don’t let the silent hoover disturb your dreams!

The Pub May Not Always Be What It Seems…

Drinks!

Drinks!

I AM the Lifestyle Support Guru, so why do I do it? Why do I put myself through such misery? Why do I go to the pub?

I have been advised by my doctor to take ‘gentle strolls’ for a (sometimes) painful leg, which had been a particular nuisance today, preventing me from doing any housework, which devastated me, as you can imagine. When the pain eventually disappeared – but far too late in the day to even think of doing any cleaning or fetching the washing in – I felt that a gentle stroll (with a slight limp) to the Ale House would fit perfectly with doctor’s orders.
I settled myself down with a purely medicinal glass of wine, only to find that the two ‘older’ gentlemen in the corner were rather hard of hearing AND had their hearing aids turned up too far, which meant the gentlemen were shouting at each other while their hearing aids were whistling at each other, completely drowning out the gentle background heavy metal music.

To add to this, in walked a female customer who is very nice, but known for her ability to talk the hind leg off several donkeys, regardless of whether she knows the donkeys or not.

donkey laughing

donkey laughing

Normally, she stands in another part of the pub but, for some reason, she came and sat down next to me. (Perhaps she recognises a true Guru?) My heart sank, partly because only yesterday an obvious axe murderer (see earlier blogs on identifying axe murderers) had opened up a conversation with me and now I was about to have to take part in a conversation about donkeys’ hind legs. She asked me if I was ‘still studying’ (I’m not sure what she thinks I’ve been studying on my laptop for the last couple of years), so I said I was just reading emails and made a point of looking back at my laptop (where I’m on level 1332 of Pet Rescue Saga).
Donkey Lady then took out a book – the first time I’ve ever seen her do that – and started reading it. Nothing unusual there – until she started laughing and clearly wanted me to ask her why she was laughing.
Beloved LSG followers, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER ask someone what they are laughing at, because they will tell you and I can GUARANTEE you will not find it funny AT ALL! I avoided the temptation and decided a further gentle stroll to the next public house would be of benefit, especially since it is nearer home.

Once again, I settle myself down and, once again, find myself disturbed by laughter, this time from a younger gentleman who is laughing at something on his laptop – I don’t think I want to ask what, given my own warning above.

And, finally, in comes THE CHOIR for refreshment after tonight’s rehearsal – a choir which I admire mainly for their matching red polo shirts. You know that, at some point, they will spontaneously burst into song, but you hope to have finished your second restorative glass of wine and have limped back home by then…
And, as the strains of ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ ring out (a Tuesday night ‘special’), I wend my weary way home…

Sleep well