So it was a case of down tools and everybody out. And, never one to argue with the wishes of the workers soviet, I was showing my support by keeping up the pickets morale. Yes, I was standing shoulder to shoulder with them on the frontline, when the call came. The WHB was primed and ready for action and wondering if I could join him for a drink.
What a dilemma. Could I be excuse myself from the cut and thrust of picket politics? Ok, technically, this had only actually consisted of me chatting to a rather winsome typist from Bolton, but still...Reluctantly, I decided to sacrifice myself and meet up with him. Ok, technically, I was heading for the pub anyway, but still...
In the Trackside we were met by the unusual sight of a crowded bar. Initially I thought my comrades has used their initiative and set up an ideal command post. However, it turned out that these were no slouching strikers, but respectable members of the teaching profession. In fact, they seemed rather miffed by the assumption. Seems as if Algernon and Mrs Teacher had a good excuse for being on the lash. Apparently they had just finished school for the summer. Does anyone else remember the good old days when it was the kids who celebrated by getting pissed?
Obviously the WHB was greatly enthralled by all this excitement, and it was to be expected he would lose concentration in the presence of various nubile PE experts. Luckily for them he had to save his energy for the cycle home. Beer wise: the worst was Hidden Potential-which didn’t have any, whilst the best was an old favourite-Dizzy Blonde.