You know how Samuel Becket plays consist of snippets of conversation which have no particular plot line. For instance long conversations about whether one ought to buy the Evening Standard or the London Evening News. These dialogues illustrate the trivia of human existence, but also sometimes show how that trivia can hide tragic and painful situations.
So I'm in a pub having a quiet pint in the corner, trying not to watch the telly with the sound on silent. At the bar a father and son. Father calls him Son so I assume it is so. Across the bar area you can see into the Lounge where a solitary woman is drinking. Suddenly Son notices woman in the other bar.
"Why don't you come over here and have a drink with us."
"No thanks, I don't like the company you keep."
"Never mind him. Come and have a drink with me."
"Why can't you come round here and have a drink with me?"
"I'm with my Dad."
"Exactly."
Its a sad world, but I seem to be alive again and will start blogging again soon.
