A very unhappy Barts an all. Stuck at work till 8, the 8.15 train gets changed platform three times, go back and forth like a rocking chair, then gets cancelled, run down to the Oasthouse, grab a pint, watch what looks like a football match played on a horse of the year venue on a grainy tv, 8.45 delayed, get in the Albany as crouchy tucks it away, do the crouchy robotics dance, all goes tits up, only pub in the world singing come on andorra, game over, have to listen to boozed up mates waxing lyrical about all that is wrong with English football, and then the cab driver home stinks to high heaven like he hasn't got out his chair for three weeks, and doesn't know his way from Albany Park to Sidcup.
We come back from an away game once and had one in there before getting the train back. A mad old irish drunk with a face covered in snot tried to give me a carrier bag with thousands of pounds in. Next thing i know, Murf has shouting 'he's got a gun' and half a dozen of us were running for our lives. Very surreal, considering i was only about 16.
Comments
That's my verdict
Last time I was in there Stop Shouting honked up at the bar and nobody noticed. Was obviously nothing out of the ordinary.