As I was ascending the hill towards home, I approached the Irish bar which had a group of men huddled outside.
When I say Irish bar, I don't mean a chain pub with bicycles and road signs inside, but a genuine shit-hole where Irishmen drink. To excess.
As I approached the outside drinkers, whom I assumed were smokers taking the air, I noticed one guy leaning over and attending to something on the ground which I took to be a large shapeless holdall of some kind.
On closer inspection, amongst the inebriate elderly West Coast gypsies, with their flat caps, calloused hands and rough hewn impenetrable West Coast accents, lay another elderly man. He was conscious, of sorts, and able to move an arm, but appeared drunk beyond standing. His companions appeared to be comfortable with the situation and continued to discuss whatever they were so animated about. (Horses?)
I'm convinced that the guy I saw leaning over towards the prostrate one was actually asking him what he wanted to drink.
I shan't comment on what I witnessed through the pub window!
Drinking Culture: it's a lifestyle choice.
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