Here's part two of the work pub interface. At least as experienced by one fat old bloke. You would have got it all in one chunk, but Stonch called me out on one of my numbers posts yesterday. "Why not write some more travel reports?" I could have just said "because I haven't been chuffing travelling recently." Then I remembered: the past is a foreign country. Let's do some travelling there.
I was already past the passage where Lexie tells me to bugger off to my computer when I noticed Stonch's comment. Two blogs, indeed. Diversity is the name of the game here. And I'm never going to fill a blog with amusing stuff. The numbers occupy the spaces left by my intermittent imagination. The stories of my kids help me through the days when I can't face statistics. Well it makes sense to me.
Where was I? Pissing it up during and after work. That was my theme. See where interrupting me gets you, Stonch? Just delays the fun bits. Whatever they might be.
Arms Factory, Shoreditch, May - July 1979.
While I was living in a squat with just about everyone I knew, I got a job at an arms factory. Well, not just me, me and Matt. I can't for the life or me remember the company's name. But it made the boxes for anti-aircraft missiles and doors for warships.
George and Vulture
63 Pitfield St,
We often ate our lunch (me and Matt) in the little park opposite the George and Vulture (still one of my favourite pub names). Occasionally we'd nip in for a quick pint of Pride. A few years later, Piers worked behind the bar.
63 Charlotte Rd,
I think this is the right pub. It was a specialist real ale place. I can well remember one lunchtime session there. We only got 30 minutes. And it was a 3 or 4 minute walk to the Bricklayers. One Friday they had Fuller's Hock on. I manged to sink 5 in 20 minutes. That's still a dinnertime record for me.
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