Time Travelling. Again.
Occasionally I like to travel back in time and corner myself in the snug of The White Hart, Basingstoke. I ply the much younger me with drinks as I tell him about the future. Neither of us enjoys the experience much. He doesn't like it because a) I'm older than my dad would have been at the time b) the fucking state of me, and c) I never have any good news for him. I don't like it either, because nothing ever seems to get through to this idiot. Me: Alright, mate. Him: Jesus. You shat me right up. Me: Well, it's quite quiet, this process. It's like electric cars. Electric cars are required to emit an artificial noise, known as AVAS, to alert people to the fact their about to get mown down by ludicrous phantom people carriers. Him: Sigh. Me: What? Him: I mean, you've started with the bollocks already, haven't you? I mean, I thought we had an arrangement: beer first, bollocks later. At least let me relax into it a bit. Me: Fair enough, actual...
