Had a couple of chums visit at the weekend in the sunny climes of North-West London and we went to the pub.
Local pubs in our neck of the woods used to be spit-and-sawdust affairs but now you can’t move for Belgian beer this and gourmet food that. These pubs now also boast sofas and copies of The Guardian and The Independent at every table. They also have a high population of media twats with mobiles glued to their ears, Hoxton fin haircuts and the sort of glasses that I have just bought.
Christ! Am I slowly becoming one of them?
Anyway myself and the missus and my mate and his other half were having a chat about glasses as my mate had laser eye surgery some time ago and was singing it’s praises.
His missus, of West Indian descent, also told us the story of when he had it done and she came to visit him in hospital the day after. As the bandages were removed he started to open his eyes and look around the room to refocus his new eyesight. His eyes then rested on his missus and he was silent. She asked if he was OK to which he replied.
‘Christ. I’ve married a black woman!’
Now that’s comedy!
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