Yesterday I went for a 'business lunch' with a colleague and, once seated at our table, felt the need to ask the staff to turn the music down. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Time was when a mere high-street hostelry could not have dreamed of matching my decibel capacity but here I am, the wrong side of 35 and heading towards the Ovaltine and comfy slippers. It's a sad, sad day indeed.
Those of you who saw Probemeister rocking the (sadly-missed) Arts Centre in York with an aural onslaught of thundering beats and analogue synths will remember remarking, "There goes a chap who'll never be defeated by a slightly intrusive blast of KT Tunstall of a lunchtime and no mistake" but I fear I have let you all down. I can only beg for forgiveness (quietly).
Waitress: "Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?"
Me: "Look, I can't hear a single word you're saying; can you possibly turn this dreadful racket down a bit?"
Waitress: "A Malibu & dry ginger, a pint of snakebite and a pair of Campari shooters?"
Me: "Yes, but can we have one with mash?"
Waitress: "No, it's the last door on the left, can't miss it."