Welcome to Friday. I’m Lyle, your bar-steward for the day. I’m going to make an effort and not be too sweary for the moment, although that’s mainly because I’m busier being sweaty than sweary. I love the warmth, but damn, I wish this humidity would break with a good thunderstorm or two.
Still, we’re all in this nice air-conditioned bar for the afternoon, we might as well get some drinks in. I’m not going to run it with a theme tonight, so it’s about drinking what you want to.
Orders, please. Drinks will be served from around 5pm.
I had a nice pint of Robinson’s “Dizzy Blonde” in Bakewell on Monday so I think I’ll have another of them.
Well, if you’re not going to be sweary, then I will. I’ll have a Fucking Bullshit Cocktail, please. Here’s an instructional video:
I was all set to say I’ll have what mike’s having, but I’d like to be able to go to sleep sometime this weekend, so I’ll have a mojito instead. Skip that Admiral Nelson swill please, and use the Appleton.
OMG, did you put these doiles?
Where is the real Lyle? What did you do with him?
I’m touching base at home after a 4 hour drive back from Derbyshire. A couple of hours to repack then Bernard and I are catching the train to London, he for a night out with his Wicked Auntie Bry, Pete and I to enjoy each other’s company in a posh hotel on Park Lane. The humidity, driving and lack of sleep are making it hard for me to keep my eyes open, so I want three cans of Red Bull for now, please. Later on perhaps I’ll have a very cold glass of vodka.
Well fuck you for being a prissy mixologist. When you have a minute, could you knock one of these out please: