The Falcon’s Malteser*

“What would you like to drink my lovely?” Seb says.  We’re in his new local pub where we’ve arrived in time to order food before tonight’s rugby: New Zealand v France.

“Double gin and slimline tonic please darling,” I say, smiling up at him.  He disappears to the bar.

“If I can just do a summer internship,” one of the students on the next table says to her friends.  She’s got waist-length chestnut hair.  They look so young these days.  “Or maybe just get a job.  I want to…”

“On my course there’s an opportunity to spend a year studying in America,” her friend says.  She’s wearing a bobble hat over her long, honey-brown hair.  They’re so well-spoken.  It just seems incredible that Seb is studying with these youngsters.

At the table behind me there are a group of three women about my age playing a card game.

It seems friendly in here.  This will probably become Seb’s local.  The ceiling is low and am sitting in a good position in front of the large screen.

Am wearing a swimsuit-cover-up with tights and boots.  It’s an eccentric outfit but it’s working so far.  Look:

Whilst I write this Seb is chatting to an actor friend about the film we saw last night, Sicario: an incomprehensible yarn about Mexican drug wars and so on.

“I know you’d prefer Suffragette but I’m desperate to see this one,” Seb says last night.  “It’s Emily Blunt and Benicio del Toro and…”

“Yes, I like Emily Blunt,” I say.  “Well, I liked her as Queen Victoria. It’s fine: I’ll see Suffragette with a female chum.”

The food arrives. We consume it.

“Are you writing the blog?” Seb says as I search the Internet for “detective novels about rugby”, for a title suggestion.
“Sort of. I’ll explain later,” I say. There’s no wifi or 4G at Seb’s so I have to write the blog here in the pub.

Attached photo is where we were at lunchtime.

Happy Saturday everyone!
*1986.  By Anthony Horowitz.


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