When I was a teenager, I dreamt of a time when I could walk into a pub and the barman would know what I wanted and have it waiting for me on the bar in the time it took me to get from door to barstool.
Now I'm an adult, I realise that this is a somewhat pathetic ambition. And equally tragic, it appears to have come true.
My preferred pub closed down last month for something laughably called "refurbishment" (basically, a lick of paint and some of the more distressingly stained or torn chairs replaced.) As I strolled past last night, I was hauled in by the landlady to sample (along with a select band of 'regulars') the results of the new beerlines. Very impressive. But also a little disturbing that I'm considered a 'regular'. My teenage self would be proud. My adult self hangs his head and shuffles his feet, but takes the free beer anyway.
I also appear to have acquired a stalker. This is highly exciting. Today I got the Silent Phone Call at work. Some machinery in the background and the sound of a person breathing. I await further developments with a mixture of intrigue and dread.
