And so another #Tuesday has rattled by, fuelled by beer, slightly cramped musicians, and a lightly bedraggled pub dog called Bailey.
There weren’t many of us in there tonight. At one point the band outnumbered the patrons, and I was glad of the rings on my fingers clattering loudly as I clapped the table top in applause.
Even so, the various Ladies M (ex-, current and honourary) were in fine form, discussing bra fittings, the power of Baby Groot, and how well the Charleesi is doing in preparation for her A Levels.
It was so quiet – in terms of customers rather than volume – that our irrepressible landlord began to serve us at the table; and a fateful message relaying key events to Mre B was hit by the joys of Autocorrect. In an instant, our landlord was transformed into our warlord.
As he was handing out lollipops at the time, this has now become immortalised on social media as being “that time of the night when the warlord hands out lollipops”
Derek may never live this down as we will be using his name in vain for quite some time. Derek the Warlord has a certain charming ring to it, and I’m sure he will turn up as a character somewhere, either on game night or in a story. We may even explain the joke some time…
So, not the most riotous night, despite the near ignition of Lady M’s bag, the near-licking face-off, or the attempts by the band to get their own back, but as ever a great milestone in what has been a weird day and entertaining week.