Booze Squad

Booze Squad Tonight should have taken place in July, my birthday night out. A dozen weekly tattoos stopped that. It was a frosty December evening when we went to a few pubs for a beer. Frozen ground echoed our footfalls, ice threatened to trip us and cold gnawed our extremities. There was nothing like that first beer in the pub where a real coal fire was burning like a meteor. Not been in that pub since I was married, fifteen years ago. Seven more pubs followed, a collage of different beers, chasing a lovely married brunette round the pub after she stole my cap, kissing a tattooed gal and saying when are we going out? Other blurry images: meeting an old mate and talking about swinging and fetish clubs, taking a book about Goethe and a hundred year old dictionary from a pub library, pursuing unsuitable women whose partners hovered close by and finally, chicken kebab and chips in the curry house. More beer would have flowed but my cash went kaput. Bring on the next session, it’ll be ten pints!