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Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Pocketful of Twopences

Woke up without too much of a hangover after a good night's sleep in an unfamiliar bed. Mulled about a bit waiting for Merk to get up. When he did we went for a walk along the seafront. It was a warm afternoon, the sun was shining strong with the gentle sea breeze just freshening it up. There were some tasty lasses on the beach in various stages of undress, which was nice. We strolled along to the Pier, to spend some change in the arcade. I changed 50p into twos and took my Vegas-style cup of shrapnel to the pushers. I couldn't get rid of it, I kept winning, the pile of coppers kept growing. I was feeding coins in one machine, when the one next to me 'dropped', noone else was near it and I had been on it earlier, so I allowed myself to them. Winner! I beat Merk 2-1 in the great air-hockey grudge match. But I did win him a little Piglet thing, which he was less than impressed with.

Hungry, we took ourselves to the Bar above the snooker hall, and I devoured a Chicken Proven├žal. Well I devoured the bits that didn't find there way onto my shirt. Merk had a ham baguette, and we were joined by one of the bargirls, who was chatting Merk up while having her dinner. Merk was oblivious to it. Full of grub, we wandered further down the seafront. I looked through one of the ubiquitous 20 pence telescopes all seafronts have to have. A little sail boat was bobbing on the horizon. By this time the blue skies had been replaced by more interesting heavier clouds and the sun kept making irregular cameos from behind them, lighting up different parts of the sea as it did. We had icecream, served by a buxom woman, weathered like the seawall behind her. Double scoops. After arsing about on the beach (sacrificing the aforementioned Piglet to the elements, and chucking seaweed at Merk), we headed back to Bath Street.

As I was watching Emerdale/getting ready to hit the pubs I heard music from outside. I muted Kane Dingle and could hear a brass band. I hurried Merk out, and there in the bandstand infront of a dozen stripey deckchairs with blue-rinsed loungers was a decent sized band belting out such brass classics as Procul Harem's Whiter Shade of Pale and summat by Elton John. Great scenes. Onwards though, it was pub time. Once again we started at Scholars, as last night it had been the only drinkerie with enough people to be classed 'lively'. It wasn't tonight. Ah well, a couple of pints of Brains, and on the move again. Again we retraced the steps of 24 hours back, and found ourselves in the Cambrian. Again it was pretty quiet. My idea of coming here after the main holiday season and before the students restart felt like it was back-firing a bit, at night-time at least. Couple in there, and we decided we would go the Rummers for the night. Hallelujah, when we crossed Bridge Street and walked down the little entrance to the pub, it was heaving. A hive of activity. And that was just outside. Surprisingly we found somewhere to sit inside and drank and drank and talked about shit. Time called and the Spar was duly utilised and we ended a great day with sausage baps and good tunes.

Stav.

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