In frosty territory

It’s good to see that despite the intelligence of the human race, there are still traces of visceral, primal elements in the psyche.

Take my local pub, for instance.

As I mentioned in a previous entry, I’ve been frequenting a local watering hole mainly because… well… because I can. In this process, I befriended a female bartender, as well as her sister. However, the local barflies have their favourite bartenders, and the reception to my presence has been not unlike sitting on an iceberg, during winter, drinking an ice cold can of Coke, given away from the back a Black Thunder.

And don’t I wish that all Black Thunders would crash into an iceberg... but that’s another topic.

Anyway, it probably doesn’t help that these two girls seem to enjoy chatting to me.

So it seems that my presence threatens these males, due to me not being a sleazy 50-year-old fuckwit who wanders around pinching the bargirls on the arse, draping my arms over their shoulders and pecking them on the cheek at every opportunity, so therefore I must be more appealing to these girls. Right?

As a result, these males have been exercising their influence over their “territory”, and have been coercing me to leave. I think it even got to the point where one of them threatened to punch me out.

I just love the territoriality exhibited in these males. I liken it to magpies, hopping from tree to tree, all chattering amongst themselves as they conspire to swoop on the outsider. However, in this instance, they were afraid that I was stealing one of their mates... so that analogy was a little false.

Lets just say it was like a group of dirty old men that chat amongst themselves to intimidate the new guy so that he won’t steal away the girls that they’ve tried propositioning for the past 12 months or so. Well, it was kinda like that, if your definition of “kinda” is something along the lines of “exactly”.

So, rather than stick it to them and challenge their right to intimidate and annoy me, I have simply opted to give the babies their rattle, and I will leave them alone. I think I’ve got far better things to do than hang out in some dank pit and whittle away my years. I’ve got a whole world out there to impact upon, and I can’t do it whilst parked at a front bar, Cheers style.

Besides, she asked for my phone number. So there’s no point in going back there just to be confronted by juvenile, immature, pathetic wankers.

On a different topic, I feel I must offer a retraction to a previous entry I made, in where I inferred that confidence isn’t the only attractive trait, and that other traits can be equally appealing.

It seems I was a bit misguided. Speaking to a myriad of different women over the past few days seems to suggest that a fair majority of them prefer someone with a bit of confidence about themselves. Only a slight minority said that they’d find the challenge in a shy person satisfying.

There you have it. I was wrong. So shoot me. I am only male, after all...

... and for a bit of low-brow humour, here's a picture of Prince William - possibly the most clean, refined, dignified and classy of the British Royals - taking a stack.


"Kemosabe, I can hear horses... a couple of them... about four feet away..."