Thomas the Tank Engine

I have been on holiday this last few weeks...

…as you have probably been able to tell from the high output of blogs. It has been a lovely time; stress free, lazy, slightly (but regularly) drunken, sunny for the most part and, well, just lovely. My DarlingWife has been more than patient and has managed to take some time off so that we can potter about the house and shops in a most pleasant fashion. We had a slight contretemps in MotherCare yesterday when I, unthinkingly, murmured that I may perhaps be a tad bored but, other than the stabbing in the ear with a pram parasol incident, all has been lovely.

A most pleasant evening was had last night. I had arranged to meet Big Jon for a cheeky pint (or 6) in The A. Jon is:
Big (at least 6'5")
Broad of Shoulder
Dry of Wit
Not Shy of Making Observations
Good Company.

He is also a bit older than me and delights in showing off his bus pass (the mugshot of him on it is, quite frankly, scary – he was the third man in that dreadful Kray Twins murder, if you believe that photo). Jon also tells it like it is. Which allows no room for pretence but plenty of room for mirth. Poor SuperDave innocently, before even his first sip of ‘the guest beer, something beginning with “W”’, made a little comment about the football and then sat in a slightly bemused silence as The Big Man tore into footballers and their lack of an ability to stay upright when delivered a glancing blow by the back of a butterfly’s knee.

And so the tone was set.

Splendid evening with a variety of people dropping in and joining us. Even Adam’s mate, who passed out at the end of the night, was interesting, funny and gentle.

Lovely.

I was reminded of a similar night when the ever-lovely ‘A’ decided to drink vigorously and, at the close of play, cajoled Jeff The Landlord to joining her in song (or something like that – we were all a little the worse for wear, in truth). SuperDave was there (again) and captured the moment for posterity with his nubile-phone. I’m not sure, but there may have been a magic trick or balloon tying involved. But, on a moment’s reflection, that may well have been another night when ‘A’ showed her splendid value as Post Drink Entertaineress by attempting to remove A-Baloon-Daschund-that-had-become-stuck-on-her-wrist using a golfing umbrella as a singularly (but hysterically, amusingly) inappropriate tool.

Anyway, last night closed with the usual prolonged goodbye session outside the door of the lounge bar. Thankfully my wife had joined us, as Super decided to give me a typical embrace with a continental-style kiss to the cheek. Unfortunately, he mistimed it dreadfully and ended up kissing me square on the lips. Both of us favour a facially hirsute* fashion and there was, for a split second, a genuine fear of A Velcro Situation developing. As if that wasn’t quite embarrassing enough, two of SD’s workmates happened out of the public bar At That Very Moment.

Ah, how we laughed. Nervously, and far too loud.

With the robust, rugby bellow, of “Come along now, dear, time to go,” I ostentatiously grabbed the missus’ arm and marched purposefully away in the direction of My Very Heterosexual Home, leaving the equally straight Super to try to explain the situation to his colleagues.

Lovely.

It was a splendid night. Have I mentioned it was lovely?

Big Colin (who I have mentioned in this space before) sent me one of his texts this morning. It read

I do so love his SMS’s.

*I had to look it up, too. It means ‘hairy’.