Back in August, Phil had told me that my cargo pants weren't appropriate for the Lime Tree. I went and got changed. It was funny more than anything else, but on the other hand, I've not forgotten it either. It's not a scarring type memory but... anyway...
After watching the Wales v Ireland game in the rugby, Phil, Pervy, Simon and I went on a little tour of Withington, and then headed into town. It was late. Nowhere was open. We went to the Press Club. Phil tried to convince the doorman that he was a surgeon. No chance. We were about to be turned away, when I showed the doorman my work ID. He looked at it, at me, and said, "Okay. Seven fifty."
"And my friends?" I said, pointing at the other three. "Them too?"
He nodded. We all went in.
Cargo Pants: 1 - Press Club: 1
2 comments:
No mention of the delicious chilli, how rude!
Nor of those charming wedges. The blogosphere will never know!
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