With my little sojourns to Ramsgate becoming increasingly more regular of late, last night found me sampling some delightful curry in The Artillery Arms (deffo a gay pub, if ever there was).
Though the pub seems to be replete with cranks, the atmosphere was great and everyone seemed to be having a great time until their King of Crankiness, someone that I could only liken to a cross between Ozzy Osbourne (vagueness) and Kieth Richard's granddad (looks), called Bruce, turned up. At which time, people started leaving in droves!
Puzzled over this, I thought I'd engage the guy in conversation (not difficult, as there was soon just the two of us left). Not normally being one to regret things, I think I'll make an exception in this arsehole's case. Never, ever, in my life have I heard so much drivel from one person in such a short space of time! Also, not being inclined towards rudeness, normally, I found myself, five minutes into the conversation, requesting of him that he 'fuck off and die'.
Needless to say, he did neither, so I found myself leaving half a glass of spritzer and the pub behind.
Such a shame!
Do they have any more like him, going in there?
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2 comments:
Oh, so we have met then!
I don't think that the guys surname was Forsyth.
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