IT'S THE FOG

Rumours of my social sparkle may have been grossly exaggerated. As well as my hail fellow well mettishness and bonhomie. Consider the cat, which ensconces itself in a convenient box so that it rear-end and vital organ areas are safely out of sight, only the head with fangs and the paws with claws are showing. Precisely so. This box is my fortress.

But I will venture forth for pâté, of which there was a tempting sufficiency durin the meeting of the pipe club, most of whom I like rather much. I am fond of pink meat goo.
Pink meat goo is as good a social lubricant as there is.
Look, I'm smiling.


Ten people and two whiskey bottles showed up. Plus several tins of tobacco. One or two of the members look more fragile than they did last month, and I think there was a pick-up truck with Texas plates parked outside. Not that that is germane, he lives locally. There were, sadly, no women. For some reason I cannot fathom we have no women members.

Ladies, if you like fine Virginia Perique mixtures, and pink meat goo, please show yourselves! Come for the meat goo, stay for the fabulous company. Have some flake! Delicious!

It ended with people fading into the fog, which was starting to roll over the coastal hills. It's gotten colder since nightall, by about fifteen to twenty degrees. The road across the bridge was enveloped in white silk which also veiled the view of the city. Some pelicans flapped near the bus, then disappeared into the mists.


Because it's the beginning of the football season, the depraved cigar smoking old gits in the backroom were in high spirits, a perfect rutting frenzy, and loudly insulted each other as they vied for the attention of imaginary females of their species, ruffling their wattles in splendid display. I had earlier told them to behave better than they normally do, no venomous and vehement fighting over politics, go ahead and discuss religion, that's a safe subject and you're all heretics who will burn at the stake anyhow, so nobody will be offended.

They talked politics.


Anyhow, the pipe smokers had a fine time. At the appointed hour I told them that some of them were in danger of turning into pumpkins, and if they stayed much longer I would have to mop up the pumpking guts, please avoid the cheroot crowd on the way out they all have diseases. Unclean, unclean! A few members crossed themselves as they left.

Nick is looking to buy his first Comoy. I suggested that if he didn't want to spring for a Blue Riband, he should look for a London Pride or research some of the Comoy off-brands.
Many of those are also nice. I look forward to seeing what he finds.
He's in his eighties. But still spry and hobbit-like.



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