One of phils past escapades
I was doing some work for Telstra out in Melbourne. The equivalent of BT over here. I had an informal Sat morning meeting with couple of their Project Managers.
It was on a day of an Old Firm match which cos of time difference wasnt kO until about 11pm.
Informal meeting, so i was in jeans but with a shirt over my Chelsea Rangers Blues Bros t-shirt.
After the short meeting, one them, Chris, suggested a beer in a mock English pub he knew in the centre.
So we settled into the pub, seated near the window away from the bar, fully charged with my ice cold Fullers London Pride, finished off with a traditional 2 inches of Aussie foamy head!
And then it happened! A whole troup, probably 15 to 20 of green hoop shirted low life entering on mass. Even without the shirts they were unmistakable by the dirty finger nails, acne, greasy hair and rust coloured teeth!
Noisy bast#rds crowded at the bar. Chris goes up to bar and gets buffeted to feck trying to get 2 beers in. Most of which ends up on the floor.
Shortly afterwards I decide to get 2 full pints myself.
I remove my shirt, fully, and proudly, displaying my Blues Brothers t-shirt, resplendent with both club badges on the back of it.
Deciding that Chris's polite tactics to get to the bar didn't work, I decide on Plan B. And make very effective use of both elbows.
I get served quickly and immediately by a now very pissed off barman.
And before they close ranks I get back to my seat. Albeit, having to stand on the odd toe or kneecap the odd thigh. But both pints pretty much full. So mission accomplished.
Having learnt over the years to never turn your back on the enemy, i turn my chair round to face the mob, t-shirt and all!
At that point, the gold medallist of Manky Man of the Year struts over and sets up a stare and then takes a good swig of his beer. So far, so good
But....
.. Then he gobs the whole mouthful over me and my t-shirt!
Now, for those of you that know me well, as an unassuming, quiet, retreating type of guy, I took my time to consider my response. Should I ask for an apology? Should I beat a hasty retreat? Should I call the Police? etc etc
After careful considerstion of all the options, lasting for anything up to 0.00001 of a second, I was up on my feet and before he could even finish his greasy smirk to his mates, landed the wallop of all time full bang on his snozzle. My dad was a boxer and he taught me how to fight and he would have been proud of that one. The immediate feeling of disintegrating and crumbling bone as the fist sunk into his chops.
Oh wow, claret spurting everywhere and the medal winning Mr Manky laying somewhat dazed on the floor having chucked his own beer over himself enroute!
Momentary silence in rest of the pub. And then 3 maybe 4 of the manky brigade move over. But slowly and with what i had learnt from instinct over the years, uncertainty.
And, as they delayed amd didn't steam into me straight away I knew their cause was lost and i didnt have to get into a full scale scrap.
In fact there was very little resistance when the pub staff very quickly ushered them all out. Two of them cradling a now much claret splatered Mr Manky.
When they had gone, I saw the manager heading over to me. I thought Here we go, me next. But instead there was a member of staff behind him with 2 fresh pints and a couple of packets of crisps.
And all he said was
"Thanks. These are on the house. You saved us the trouble of chucking tbem out "!