Monday, 2 March 2009

Drinking and driving

It has been a busy weekend. However, we managed to find time to go into the pub yesterday afternoon for a spot of drinking and driving in the form of Scalextrix Sunday. This is a new event in which fully grown men and women get to play around with electric cars. Children are, in the main, banned from taking part. This is probably because one of the best racers was a young lad of about 10 or 11 whose focus and determination was worthy of Jackie Stewart. Middle aged men were quaking in their trainers.

I was somewhat bemused when Dudley came in and requested a pint of water rather than his usual distinctive tipple He looked rather dashing in a Toulouse Lautrec-style beret and cane. At least, I think he had a cane, but perhaps I imagined that. It transpired the beret was not just for effect - it was hiding five stitches. Suddenly, Super Mario's comment on my last posting made sense. On Saturday, a little worse for wear, Dudley went outside for a smoke, leaned over to put his fag out in the receptacle provided but just carried on leaning. It was a fag too far and he ended up banging his head for his efforts.

I do hope we will see him out again. A week or so ago, we went in to the pub for a romantic dinner for two. When I asked for some background music, before Larry the Landlord had a chance to put on the Chi-Lites Greatest Hits (quite a small CD) or say 'shall I sing New York New York?', Dudley came out from Compost Corner - the name we have for the regular drinkers' end of the bar - sat on the piano stool and started to play. He serenaded us with As Time Goes By and other such tunes. A couple on the next table who were celebrating their wedding anniversary looked up and said: 'Oh, isn't this lovely?'

Mr Grigg and I wish Dudley well. We are rather fond of him. It could have happened to anyone. He is not the first person to have injured himself in this way. And he certainly won't be the last. Someone I know broke their wrist when they tripped over the cat at Christmas after a few too many sherries. When I get drunk, my arms gesticulate all over the place like a spider on heat. What do you do?

That's about it
Love Maddie x


  1. Morty's arms go all over the place too. Pictures fall off the wall, red wine staining whoever is sitting next to him.

    I simply Wurble more than usual.

  2. Great blog. Unfortunately I tend to get all lachrymose and tell everyone that I love them. And probably gesticulate wildly while I'm doing it too.

  3. You live in a place much, much more interesting than I!!
    Keeping in mind that we live at the edge of the woods, at the end of the continent, our nearest pub is called The Log House (How original) because it's made from logs. The most exciting thing to happen there would be on a Monday night when a few poor souls set up a Karaoke screen causing the rest of the customers to up and leave, en masse.
    Poor Dudley - he'd never have such an accident here as there are no ash trays, smoking being forbidden withing 3 metres of the doorway.

  4. Well it's another reason for giving up smoking!
    Lovely blog, what a great idea Scalectrix Sundays. I bought my husb 'B' one for Chirstmas a couple of years ago it took 4 hours to set up and hasn't been out again since then!

  5. Can't drink any more, not even the occasional glass of my favourite champers... such is the lot of someone with pesky ulcers.
    However, when I used to drink... I just felt relaxed and happy, thought I could sing like Edith Piaf, complete with lousy accent... dance like Ginger Rogers, at which I was slightly better than the singing thanks to early years learning to dance standing on my father's feet ... and assumed everyone thought me wonderful. Which of course they do anyway....


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