Down The Dun Cow

I was in The Dun Cow because I hadn't gone to the monthly meeting of the cynical negativists society - why bother? 

Anyway, their ping-pong table was broken...

"The geese are flying South and it's a bad summer for leeks" advised the ginger-bearded Franciscan monk in the corner, over his pint of stout and copy of The Racing Post. Inspector Birkett (master of disguises) had cunningly started using coded phrases, so we would still know it was him.

"If you ask me..." declamed Jack Hatcher, vegetarian pork butcher and latent politician, who had never actually waited for anyone to ask him anything, "...that monk looks a bit dodgy."

"I think it's Inspector Birkett..." started his wife, Blanche, timidly.

"Away, woman!" interrupted Jack. "You know your trouble, Rose? You get everything wrong!" 

The new barmaid at The Dun Cow was blond and nearly six feet of violin shape, and it followed therefore that Herbert Mangle the Wallsend poet and hypothetical metrosexual, had fallen instantly in love with her.

O pass me my glass, fair amazon lass
May our love, like it, never be empty
And shine like that brass, be fine as this Bass
But...er... didn't I give you a twenty?

Sadly, not yet fully understanding English, Ulrika still gave him a completely undeserved smile, and completely deserved change from a tenner, and left him sighing into his glass. Still, as Shaw remarked, 'What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do'.

"If you ask me..." informed Jack Hatcher, "...people these days don't have enough to do, Mavis!"

Blanche didn't answer, as she was blinking demurely at Herbert Mangle, whose roving spirit (and eye) was inspirationally seeking a new folly.

Jack would have declamed to the barmaid, but she was disappearing out the back with Inspector Birkett to discuss the finer details of expired work permits.

I'd have stayed for a pint, but, you know, someone is always trying to talk to you - and you can never get served, can you? I should have gone to the cynical negativists meeting after all, but I'm always rubbish at ping-pong...