I was in the pub earlier, soothing away the tensions occasioned by a needlessly obstructive barrister who added to the stress of a disorganised day.
Peace came dropping slow, sip by sip. Gentle banter with good friends started to ease away stress.
Then disaster. An attractive lady, dressed in virginal summer white: - chic, soignée, and very decorative, came to the bar.
"Can I get a large white Rioja?" enquired la belle dame sans articulacy.
Crash! My mood evaporated in a moment.
Can I get? Can I sodding well get?
Bah! and twice bah!
A plague upon you, pretty lady. You should know better. And now I am fed up.
And it's your fault.
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