If we were having coffee, I’d ask you why aren’t we in a pub having a beer. There we can enjoy an overpriced alcoholic beverage (as opposed to an overpriced non-alcoholic one) while watching depressed, middle-aged men in dirty wife-beaters drink copious amounts of Stella Artois to the soundtrack of clacking pool balls, terrible jukebox tunes, and lads-on-tour puking up Jagerbombs. Sounds good, right?
If you’re not convinced, consider this: every Saturday night some godawful band will be there playing a hideous rendition of The White Stripes’ ‘Seven Nation Army‘ as drunkards go ‘da da da da da daa daaaa’. And who knows, one of them might get up and dance, or rather, one of them might sway from side to side, beer sloshing out of their glass and onto the grubby, old carpet.
Perhaps I’m painting an unpleasant picture of public houses. They’re all right, I guess, and at least it’s better to go to one and have a drink amongst people that are far too old to be considered your friends than sit at home with a bottle of vodka for company. After all, you’ll get to meet people with wacky names like ‘Danno’, ‘Johnno’, and ‘Tommo’, and how awesome is that? I’ve always wanted an ‘o’ added to the end of my name, but I’m probably not cool enough. And if you’re lucky, your mates will turn round from the bar as you walk in, lift their glasses and cheer your name. Well, that’s what they do to me anyway, beaming smiles and ‘Wanker’ muttered as I enter.
On reflection, perhaps it would be better to go to a cafe and have a coffee, an artisan cake and feel jealous about the man sat beside us with his huge, hipster beard. Or maybe we could wear suits and pretend that we have really important, highbrow jobs when in actual fact we work in a call centre. Anyway, at least in a cafe we won’t stick out, because everyone in there is a wanker.
In a bit,