A Midweek Visit to my Local

[palatino winotype]

It's always the same character; a cocky London barrow boy type who has had a good run of late and he's dying to let us carrot crunchers know about it, whilst throwing in a good measure of condescension.

You want to get the landlord to sort out the ventilation.

Farmer Dyer and his hell's farm hands

Good name for a band

[shaunbhoy]

It's always the same character; a cocky London barrow boy type who has had a good run of late and he's dying to let us carrot crunchers know about it, whilst throwing in a good measure of condescension.

That reminds me................when does OH's ban finish?
Then we will get HIS version of events.

[NotAllThere]

...It's always the same character; a cocky London barrow boy type who has had a good run of late and he's dying to let us carrot crunchers know about it, whilst throwing in a good measure of condescension....

Ah. A recruitment consultant then.

[Doggy Styles]

soz to interrupt Malc but a bit confised...

A "carrot cruncher" I had down as someone from Portsmouth - but IIRC you are from down Somerset way

It's quite broad. I've heard it used for a variety of people with 'country' accents, mainly those in East Anglia and the West Country.

[Malcolm Buggeridge]

soz to interrupt Malc but a bit confised...

A "carrot cruncher" I had down as someone from Portsmouth - but IIRC you are from down Somerset way

I'd not heard the expression until this character deemed it his appellation for us regulars in my local last night.

[Malcolm Buggeridge]

Four pints is nowt. But then I'm a Double-hard Northern Bastard...

Oh, that's what they all say until they meet their match with some good old fashioned rough Somerset cider.

[Troll]

soz to interrupt Malc but a bit confised...

A "carrot cruncher" I had down as someone from Portsmouth - but IIRC you are from down Somerset way

[stek]

Four pints is nowt. But then I'm a Double-hard Northern Bastard...

[Malcolm Buggeridge]

Last night, I witnessed something I've experienced several times in the past but, alas, not for a few years.

Picture the scene. A typical country pub, log fire roaring, a dozen or so old soaks at the bar when in comes our main protagonist.

It's always the same character; a cocky London barrow boy type who has had a good run of late and he's dying to let us carrot crunchers know about it, whilst throwing in a good measure of condescension.

The proceedings continue in this vein up to the point at which he's downed 4 pints of Mendip Magic and he needs to get up off his bar stool and pay a visit to the gents.

It is at this juncture that he realises that he no longer has control of his legs and , much to the mirth of the assembled, with his tongue lolling our erstwhile blade is a shambling empty husk of a man.

This particular individual was later removed by paramedics from the church railings on which he had impaled himself trying to get to the graveyard to take a leak.

Luckily for him, he didn't end up like an earlier visitor who was chained to the White Post at the mercy of Farmer Dyer and his hell's farm hands. Or, another poor unfortunate who was stripped naked and tied to a tree in the apple orchard with a suckling goat thrown in for company.