Monday, April 24, 2006

And The Boy From Stafford Did Piss Off The Girl From Oxford

And The Boy From Stafford Did Piss Off The Girl From Oxford

So I'm standing in our favourite pub in Liverpool (it has a free jukebox, cheap doubles, a picture of George Formby on the wall and is opposite a stage door) with my older sister and Sally*. Mickey is continuing in his attempts to woo Cat*, aided by some Keats and some charm and hindered by his brother Sammy who is drunk enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath from five postcodes away and his friend who has clearly had a lobotomy at some point in the recent past. And, despite the hindrances, he's doing passably well. At the least he's providing entertainment and I wouldn't mind being sister-in-law to someone whose job means he can get us preferential treatment in Pizza Hut. Even if I do feel like we've stumbled into a BBC Three sitcom.

And then the next thing the subject's moved to Shakespeare and I hear:

"I'm right and you're wrong".

As a general rule of thumb, it's not a great idea to tell me I'm wrong. I'm aware of my own falibility, especially with stuff like geography, quantum physics and the European Union but you might want to break it to me more gently than that. And you should never attempt it when I've been drinking because it's not conducive to rational conversation. Plus there is never a good time to tell me I'm wrong about something to do with Shakespeare. Especially when I am fuelled with riccardi and coke, in the midst of a BBC Three sitcom and blatantly right.

As several bouncers and bar staff have found out, I'm not one to let the last word slip away from me. Before I knew it - remember I have no volume control in these situations - I was elaborating precisely why I was right. And why Mickey couldn't be more wrong if he tried.

If the situation could descend any further Mickey then had the sheer cheek to suggest that I might not be well read. Given the whole degree and literature from Beowulf to Festen thing this was never going to make me happy. In fact, not being happy is possibly something of an understatement. And clearly I couldn't disguise my feelings:

"You're going to punch me, aren't you?"

"It's one of the options I'm considering"

And I wasn't lying.

*Obviously I do not actually have a biological older sister or a friend called Sally. Without going into a long and winding story, it's something of a regular occurence that people assume that Cat and I are related (which happened again on Saturday night). It's not a regular occurence that Val pretends to be called Sally but on Saturday night she was. We'd had doubles if you're wondering.

*Yes the word 'woo' - despite the fact that it hasn't been used since Mr Darcy finally got his act together with Lizzy - is the most appropriate here.

1 comment:

Nik said...

for future reference, never ever put labotomy and woo in your first paragraph again, i am resisting commenting with quotes from both the breakfast show and friends. it is taking a lot of will power...