Some people!
Luckily, I managed to skive out of the Team Xmas meal, due to Jamie Oliver fucking up the Traditional Xmas meal for pile of inedible poncified crap.
So, while them lot tucked into tapas, I took meself off to The Bell.
Now, I expected the pub to be busy. First, it's a Friday, so many office types in for that Friday Lunchtime drink (that sometimes stretches into the evening as a prelude to the weekend).
Second - It's Xmas, so plenty of Xmas meals going on.
Well, it's just me, so not too much trouble. I can sit and despair as I "people watch" the inevitable collection of gormsters and retards who inevitable gather about my person and blight my life.
So, I has a pint, and a seat at a table. Minding my own business. Unsurprisingly, the place is packed.
Therefore, just about the right time for every ignorant old git to gather their cohorts and pile into the pub for lunch.
And because the place is packed, and they're old and confused, they tend to wander in, find the most traversed walkway, and move into it, blocking all ingress and egress.
Standing there, moaning at the young ones eating their meals. At those stood about with pints. At the old codgers who claimed the big table for three of them to play dominoes. And moany moany moany and just pootling about.
And of course, because Jerely Kyle finished at 11:35, the Scummy Mummies, their brood and numerous perambulators arrive...
... and, naturally clog up the same narrow path the old gimmers are clogging up.
So, the old gimmers are stuck, blocked by prams. The supersize scummy mummies and overinflated sprogs are blocked by fogies in the front, and more buggies behind. Shouting, screeching harridans, ordering their kids to "behave or else" before bitchsplapping them into silence with threats of no trip to Ca$hConverters for treats.
And because they're too busy arguing about their benefts being cut so they can't afford a new iPhone contract and xBox games, they can't think straight.
See, me - I find meself a seat. Put me stuff down. Go get a drink/meal. Come back to table. Simples, I'd've thought.
Not so scum mum! Packed place and nowhere to sit? A-ha! Get to bar by ramming pramwheels into heels. Order a meal. Get meal in hand. Then walk around pub trying to find a table. Before returning to the congested passageway, and placing the plate on the pram, and eating off that. Demanding they're gonna get a refund because the meals gone cold as they were wandering around for ages.
Didn't occur to them to find somewhere to sit first. Dumbasses!
But that was all just amusement to me!
What pissed me off was wideboy gobshites.
Them bellowing bastards who stand right behind you, leaning on your chair or against your arm/back. Guffawing like a loons at nothing. Shouting hilarious anecdotes about office girls and conquest. Tossers of the highest order.
Them who decide that your table is an ideal place to dump their empty glasses.
Right in front of you.
Or worse, put their pints on your table, as they need to do something with their hands. Usually pocket billiards.
Excuse ME, but I'm sitting here! I don't want my space invaded by you or your glasses. I don't want you repeated leaning over me retrieving beverages and scraping your sleeve o'er my face and pissing me off.
It's a shame I don't drink lagers, beers and ales. If I did, I would have accidentally mistakenly assumed that someone placing a pint in front of me was a generous Xmas gesature, and I'd've quaffed it!
But the last straw was when some carer brought his wheelchair bound charge in. The carer kept dumping his pint right in front of me, so I could not even put mine back on the table! Grrrrr, I thought. How would he like it if I just went over and dumped my coat on his cripples lap? "Sorry mate, I though seeing as you were using my space as a receptacle, I though I'd use yours in the same fashion. I could've dumped the drip tray in his lap, but I used me coat instead. Aren't I such a nice guy!"
Guess I'm just turning into a cantankerous old git meself!
