I pottered back home from a very pleasant curry. Several bottles of Bangla Beer were churning about inside, coupled with 3 or 4 pints of T.E.A. from a local pub I'd not visited before (one of those pubs you sit in, chatting with your friends, until it dawns on you that there are no females in the pub AT ALL and the music playing is a cover of "Its Raining Men" by Geri Halliwell.)
Who cares? The beer was good. Although I'm glad I didn't go for the low calorie option of vodka and soda with a dash of lime.
So, following the inevitable curry, I climbed aboard the beer scooter, confident it would find its way home (it always does.) As I weaved my way back I noted that the pavement was glittering in the moonlight.
Odd.
I'd not had any of the magic muffins, so I pondered this for a moment. Its a measure of the strength of Bangla Beer that it a took a good 5 minutes for me to notice the Ford Transit Van parked opposite with a cherry picker raised above it. In the cage were two men in hardhats attempting to attach christmas decorations to a lamp-post. Tinsel was raining down like dandruff from an old person.
One man was either attempting to connect a circuit within the snowman or performing an act of depravity on an inanimate object the likes of which leafy Surrey has never before witnessed. Frosty was certainly looking pained.
I gave a cheery wave and made my way back to the alley of Cold Blooded Killers.
