Do not snog the barman

 This facebook memory came through today. 

And I'm thinking, "What the...?!"

And then the memories came flooding back. 

Did I snog the barman?

No. 

Did I want to snog the barman? 

Um, he was a ginger with an Irish accent that flowed like warm treacle, so why not? But he was a bit young. And he was a ginger. But he was sorta cute in an Irish ginger sort of way. 

Where was I?

At a pub on the Yarra in the city watching the The Eagles play Collingwood in the Grand Final. 

Who was I with? 

Blarney, Barney, Norty and their footy mate Jase and another random who I forget who was there. 

What was memorable about this day? 

It was fun to watch Collingwood lose the game in the last ten minute of the match. I was gently barracking for Collingwood, as I do, but there were some die-hards in the place and they were left crying into their beer - which is always fun to watch. 

What else? 

I got reacquainted with beer that day. Furphy's in a jug. It was very cheap beer. And I like beer because it keeps me honest and it makes me funny. I'm a really funny when I drink lots of beer. 

And?

Oh, Norty and I irritiated the hell out of Barney by singing, very loudly along with every eighties track they were playing at the pub. Norty and I know the words to to all the eighties songs. 

What happened after?

I got on the tram and went home, a bit squiffy, but tidy enough to not sing on the tram. It wasn't too late and I'd had enough beer by then. The seal well and truly broken, I had to time the tram ride home between loo visits as lots of beer is worse than tea - goes through me like I'm a sieve. 

But did I snog the barman?

No. But I think I might have flirted with him. 

Do I regret not snogging the barman. 

No. This is a messy enough story without locking lips with a ginger Irishman. 

Today's song: