David C, I found it…. The one where he’s got a cape on; you naughty boy you!
I finally got to take SM out for the meal at the dive of a pub that does meals for 99p. Well, at least I tried to. When we got there, not only had they stopped doing the 99p meals, they’d stopped doing them all together.
SM: Never mind. Let’s get some drinks, and I challenge you to a game of darts.
Me: But I’m starving hungry.
SM: For someone so little you have the appetite of a horse.
Me: No I don’t…. let’s go to the pub down the road. They do meals ‘for the smaller appetite’ for a fiver. They’re really good.
SM: Sounds good to me. But that’s a 500% increase; why don’t you let me buy them?
Me: Because this is my treat. I’ll take the hit.
SM: At least let me buy the drinks.
Me: Are you sure? They’re dead expensive there.
SM: I think I can take the hit.
We had our meal there instead, and the grub is seriously tasty (SM was impressed) even if their drinks are seriously overpriced (I usually get tap water when I’ve eaten there in the past.)
SM insisted on a darts march, so we went back to the other pub after the meal. He made a big show of weighing up the darts in his hand until he selected one. I called him a pretentious git, and just grabbed the nearest one to hand.
SM: We’ll see. Ladies first.
I didn’t want to admit to him that I hadn’t played darts in like 30 years or more and had forgotten the rules. So I replied:
“Age before beauty… you go first.”
It was then my turn. He was being really snarky, telling me not to forget that I was the dart and the dart was me.
He was trying to put me off. So that’s what I did… just to annoy him.
I stuck my hands out in the air, stood on one foot (like the young bloke from Karate Kid doing that stork thing) and started intoning, in as deep a voice as I could manage, “I am the dart, and the dart is me” over and over again.
I then stood on two feet, making a big show of lining up the dart with my eyes and target, still intoning the dart stuff.
I then threw the bloody thing, and blow me, I hit the effing bull’s-eye. I really did
I don’t know who was in more shock, me or him. But that part of the pub erupted in clapping and cheering.
We didn’t finish the game. SM wanted to know how I could be such a crack shot.
“I’m not. It was a coincidence… I was just messing around. Mind you, my dad was a crack shot. You follow the wind, or something.”
To cut a long story short, SM now wants to take me to some shooting range in a place called Altcar. He thinks I’m a natural.
“I hate guns, they’re horrible things.”
“They are, but it helps if you know how to use them.”
“So do I get to use a machine gun?”
“Absolutely not… it’s small arms only….
“What’s a small arm?”
Boring lecture follows about the difference between small arms and machine guns – there’s a lot of lee way as far as I could gather…. Like I care!
We had a good afternoon, and not on a bloody firing range. But I’m quite looking forward to that actually.
I shouldn't be, but I am.