Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
Slightly endulgent "cool-story-bro" I know, but...well, here we are
Drove up north and found myself in Newcastle with the missus. Had a mince around the city centre, had a few beers, went to the game. Absolutely BOUNCING after the result, went back into town, few more beers here there and everywhere, intending to go for a nice meal somewhere afterwards. Anyway, we had an absolutely maHOOsive blazing row over something or other (I honestly don't know why - I'm amazing). Anyway, she's got the major hump, no point having a meal out after tnat so we get a cab back to the hotel.
So I've brought this really nice red wine up with me in the car. But I've forgotten, its a bloody corkscrew job, and my corkscrew is in a drawer in Brighton. So I'm wanting to have this red in front of MOTD, but I've got an issue. So I walk down to reception and say "can I borrow a corkscrew ?". Not got one. Sake. But there's this little pub about 5 minutes walk away, so I think "I'll gan doon there". I take my bottle of red wine, rock up at the bar, put it down and say "2 things. Can I have a pint of Amstel, and can you open this for me ?". I get my pint, but the guy comes back and sheepishly says "we have ne'y got a bottle opener mon".
Its a pub.
"You haven't got a corkscrew ?"
Nah
FFS
I drink my pint. Alan Shearer is on in 20 minutes. I WANT my red wine in front of MOTD. Bollocks, I think. I'm going to knock on someones door. So I leave the pub, walk up the road with my bottle of red, looking for a house that has lights on downstairs. I find one, open the gate, and softly knock on the door. I knock again. The curtain moves, and some old fella peers out the window. I hold up my bottle and say "sorry to disturb you mate...but could you just open this ?". He shuffles off, opens the window a CRACK, a tiny crack, and passes a corkscrew through. I stand in his garden, with my bottle between my legs, drawing out the cork. "I'm David, I drove up from Brighton today". "Oh aye...I'm Harry".
I popped my cork, slid the screw back through the window to old Harry, doffed an imaginary cap (felt weird), and ambled back to the hotel. I think I managed about half a glass, half a bag of Skittles, and fell asleep before the third game highlights. Certainly didn't see the table.
Good times.
Drove up north and found myself in Newcastle with the missus. Had a mince around the city centre, had a few beers, went to the game. Absolutely BOUNCING after the result, went back into town, few more beers here there and everywhere, intending to go for a nice meal somewhere afterwards. Anyway, we had an absolutely maHOOsive blazing row over something or other (I honestly don't know why - I'm amazing). Anyway, she's got the major hump, no point having a meal out after tnat so we get a cab back to the hotel.
So I've brought this really nice red wine up with me in the car. But I've forgotten, its a bloody corkscrew job, and my corkscrew is in a drawer in Brighton. So I'm wanting to have this red in front of MOTD, but I've got an issue. So I walk down to reception and say "can I borrow a corkscrew ?". Not got one. Sake. But there's this little pub about 5 minutes walk away, so I think "I'll gan doon there". I take my bottle of red wine, rock up at the bar, put it down and say "2 things. Can I have a pint of Amstel, and can you open this for me ?". I get my pint, but the guy comes back and sheepishly says "we have ne'y got a bottle opener mon".
Its a pub.
"You haven't got a corkscrew ?"
Nah
FFS
I drink my pint. Alan Shearer is on in 20 minutes. I WANT my red wine in front of MOTD. Bollocks, I think. I'm going to knock on someones door. So I leave the pub, walk up the road with my bottle of red, looking for a house that has lights on downstairs. I find one, open the gate, and softly knock on the door. I knock again. The curtain moves, and some old fella peers out the window. I hold up my bottle and say "sorry to disturb you mate...but could you just open this ?". He shuffles off, opens the window a CRACK, a tiny crack, and passes a corkscrew through. I stand in his garden, with my bottle between my legs, drawing out the cork. "I'm David, I drove up from Brighton today". "Oh aye...I'm Harry".
I popped my cork, slid the screw back through the window to old Harry, doffed an imaginary cap (felt weird), and ambled back to the hotel. I think I managed about half a glass, half a bag of Skittles, and fell asleep before the third game highlights. Certainly didn't see the table.
Good times.
