The Big Match

We picked Nikki's brother up from the airport yesterday, whisked him home and gave him the 50c tour of the house and then dragged him out for a bit of retail therapy. It's important, when guests arrive from North America, to keep them on their feet for as long as possible to avoid narcolepsy setting in.

First stop was The Bar for breakfast, but they weren't open so we headed off for B&Q (a Home Depot equivalent for non-UK readers). We were looking for a few items for next week's work - rubble bags, extension cords, etc - but we also checked out power washers for giving the deck a blast before the party, and managed to find a replacement catch for the downstairs toilet door.

Next stop the local supermarket for a few groceries to tide us over until the weekend. Beer mainly. Having stopped at the supermarket it was only a short walk across the road back to The Bar which by now was open but, we learned, only do breakfasts on Sunday. So we settled for a bar snack before returning home and finally allowing Paul to get a couple of hours' kip before the evening festivities.

He'd expressed a desire to watch a football match in a proper English pub. Hard call - most of the pubs where football is shown can be a bit rough or, if they aren't, then there's not a very big football crowd and hence no atmosphere. In the end we played safe and chose The Southern, a place that used to be our local but to which we'd not been back since it changed hands last year and became an Irish theme pub. We needn't have worried. They'd installed a few more widescreen tellies, were showing the match - the European Champions League final between Liverpool and AC Milan - and seemed to be building up quite a large audience for it by the time we arrived shortly after 7pm.

I won't bore you with details of the match, but I should have accepted Paul's offer of a bet. I was a good night though, made even more entertaining by the arrival of the turn for the evening while the match was on. The band set up and tuned up during the match but the best part was when the Elvis impersonator arrived. If you were an Elvis impersonator what would your worst nightmare be? It happened right in front of us. As he walked past us the woman on the next table, who appeared to be nearing if not already past 60, leapt to her feet and accosted him. "Remember me? Years and years ago? The Boar's Head?" Elvis looked vacant for a split second, then recovered his persona. I expected him to say "Uh-huh," Elvis-style but no. In a broad Lancashire accent, he replied: "'Course I do, love, 'course I do."

Thangyewverymuch.