2004-08-07

The carnival of goons was rather sparse last night at the Bar from Hell � current theory holds that everyone was at home watching the finale of Big Brother (my North American readers will be amused to learn that the grand prize was won by a beefy Portuguese transsexual: and well done Nadia, I say! Striking a blow for beefy Portuguese transsexuals everywhere!), and I was mercifully let off early enough to catch the bus home, instead of forking over half my wages for a cab.

And so, I got to experience all the resplendent glory of the Night Bus, including a bloke stumbling up the stairs yelling, �So who�s going to give me oral sex?� and a bawling group chorus of �The Wheels on the Bus�. The top floor on the night bus is informally designated as the party floor, with everyone screaming and smoking and snogging under the seats; while the bottom level is mostly haggard folks just off work, and people so paralytically fucked they can�t manage the stairs. It�s a charming slice of British culture.

I�m back again tonight serving crap lager in my own personal purgatory. I have become convinced that I was destined to land this job as a punishment for all the loutish misbehaviour I�ve directed at bartenders in my day, of which there has been A LOT; and for which I am now VERY PENITENT INDEED.

It�s not all bad, though. My coworkers are sweethearts: when I put on my Lancashire accent and say, �Fookin�ell, this place is a tip,� they squeal with delight and hug me. Ha! So cute.