Down at the Oak the talk is of the Beaujolais run and, of course, Salty’s trip to Keswick. The Doc plans to drive back from Dover to Keswick on Saturday to join the ‘dullards’ for their celebration dinner. Chris has wagered a bottle of champagne if the Doc is able to make the journey. Salty has been wagging his finger at any unwanted guest, particularly Cockney Mick but most certainly Doctor Dave. Mick happens to be working in Keswick that weekend, he has stated that he may join them for a drink. Doctor Dave gatecrashed the party two years ago disgracing and embarrassing the group with his drunken antics, he consequently has been banned for life. Salty has been laying the law down to the ‘unwanted’ boldly informing them that they should not ‘go’ to Keswick on the weekend of the 17th. “You cannot and will not go!” to which Mick’s expression was one of consternation, “You are telling me that I can’t go to ‘fackin’’ Keswick, you are fackin’ telling me where I can and cannot go, we’ll ‘fackin’ see abawt that!” The Doc had a similar warning pointedly referring to not ‘bringing a certain person’ if he did venture to do so he himself would not be welcomed. Jokingly, Doc then mentioned he presumed the ‘said’ person was myself, ‘I’ was then unable to join them on their trip to which Salty immediately backtracked claiming that ‘I’ would be very welcome but not the ‘other’ person. Here was my golden opportunity to speak my mind brusquely reminding Philip that over the number of years that I have known him he has never once invited me anywhere; never to his house, the Rugby finals, The Beeches, fuckin’ Scotland or fuckin’ Keswick and why should he do so now? Why would I want to be associated with his ‘middle aged, back slapping group’, certainly not through this transparent bogus invitation. But, the chance of letting off both barrels conveniently and perhaps a little cowardly past me by, I merely whimpered that I had no intention of joining the party. I must learn to seize these opportunities of once in a lifetime moments of revenge. But, perhaps the ‘project’ has tempered my rage about such trivial insignificant matters. If I believe genuinely that I am not interested one jot being in his company or contrived ‘events’ I have no need to voice such a claim, I didn’t, so I must not.
Down at the Oak the talk is of the Beaujolais run and, of course, Salty’s trip to Keswick. The Doc plans to drive back from Dover to Keswick on Saturday to join the ‘dullards’ for their celebration dinner. Chris has wagered a bottle of champagne if the Doc is able to make the journey. Salty has been wagging his finger at any unwanted guest, particularly Cockney Mick but most certainly Doctor Dave. Mick happens to be working in Keswick that weekend, he has stated that he may join them for a drink. Doctor Dave gatecrashed the party two years ago disgracing and embarrassing the group with his drunken antics, he consequently has been banned for life. Salty has been laying the law down to the ‘unwanted’ boldly informing them that they should not ‘go’ to Keswick on the weekend of the 17th. “You cannot and will not go!” to which Mick’s expression was one of consternation, “You are telling me that I can’t go to ‘fackin’’ Keswick, you are fackin’ telling me where I can and cannot go, we’ll ‘fackin’ see abawt that!” The Doc had a similar warning pointedly referring to not ‘bringing a certain person’ if he did venture to do so he himself would not be welcomed. Jokingly, Doc then mentioned he presumed the ‘said’ person was myself, ‘I’ was then unable to join them on their trip to which Salty immediately backtracked claiming that ‘I’ would be very welcome but not the ‘other’ person. Here was my golden opportunity to speak my mind brusquely reminding Philip that over the number of years that I have known him he has never once invited me anywhere; never to his house, the Rugby finals, The Beeches, fuckin’ Scotland or fuckin’ Keswick and why should he do so now? Why would I want to be associated with his ‘middle aged, back slapping group’, certainly not through this transparent bogus invitation. But, the chance of letting off both barrels conveniently and perhaps a little cowardly past me by, I merely whimpered that I had no intention of joining the party. I must learn to seize these opportunities of once in a lifetime moments of revenge. But, perhaps the ‘project’ has tempered my rage about such trivial insignificant matters. If I believe genuinely that I am not interested one jot being in his company or contrived ‘events’ I have no need to voice such a claim, I didn’t, so I must not.
Down at the Oak the talk is of the Beaujolais run and, of course, Salty’s trip to Keswick. The Doc plans to drive back from Dover to Keswick on Saturday to join the ‘dullards’ for their celebration dinner. Chris has wagered a bottle of champagne if the Doc is able to make the journey. Salty has been wagging his finger at any unwanted guest, particularly Cockney Mick but most certainly Doctor Dave. Mick happens to be working in Keswick that weekend, he has stated that he may join them for a drink. Doctor Dave gatecrashed the party two years ago disgracing and embarrassing the group with his drunken antics, he consequently has been banned for life. Salty has been laying the law down to the ‘unwanted’ boldly informing them that they should not ‘go’ to Keswick on the weekend of the 17th. “You cannot and will not go!” to which Mick’s expression was one of consternation, “You are telling me that I can’t go to ‘fackin’’ Keswick, you are fackin’ telling me where I can and cannot go, we’ll ‘fackin’ see abawt that!” The Doc had a similar warning pointedly referring to not ‘bringing a certain person’ if he did venture to do so he himself would not be welcomed. Jokingly, Doc then mentioned he presumed the ‘said’ person was myself, ‘I’ was then unable to join them on their trip to which Salty immediately backtracked claiming that ‘I’ would be very welcome but not the ‘other’ person. Here was my golden opportunity to speak my mind brusquely reminding Philip that over the number of years that I have known him he has never once invited me anywhere; never to his house, the Rugby finals, The Beeches, fuckin’ Scotland or fuckin’ Keswick and why should he do so now? Why would I want to be associated with his ‘middle aged, back slapping group’, certainly not through this transparent bogus invitation. But, the chance of letting off both barrels conveniently and perhaps a little cowardly past me by, I merely whimpered that I had no intention of joining the party. I must learn to seize these opportunities of once in a lifetime moments of revenge. But, perhaps the ‘project’ has tempered my rage about such trivial insignificant matters. If I believe genuinely that I am not interested one jot being in his company or contrived ‘events’ I have no need to voice such a claim, I didn’t, so I must not.
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