A long time ago one of my brothers-in-law and I wandered into a pub in London, mainly to have a pee and then a drink to replace the lost liquid.
I went to the bar to order the drinks as C dashed off to the loos.
Within seconds, he rushed back over to me and whispering hoarsely “This is a bloody gay bar! – I’m off!!” disappeared out of the door.
I drank my beer, his beer, had a chat with the barman, went to the loo, washed my hands [of course], and then went out to the street.
C was standing there with his legs crossed, looking very uncomfortable. He had to resort to having a pee up a little side alley – he was always a little strange.
He’s gone now.
(Fear not tender hearted Avid Reader, he didn't die - my sister divorced him. Lo,TG Ed)
