Day two....episode two.
High as a kite from episode one, we awake....sometime around 1pm to a beautiful sunny day.....rememeber, Steve had us watching tv until 4am.... A quick lunch in a fabulous courtyard cafe, then off to the local shops to get prezzies for the women folk. Sarah and Courtney have stoically endured our irrational obsession with the show, so we felt compelled to bring back something from our odyssey...I was motivated because my wife is the coolest person I know, and I still can't believe 7 years later that she married a geek like me....but that is another story.
Our viewing plans for the evening had been a bit sketchy for Saturday, as Steve had plans to go to a friends to catch a special episode of Dr Who. We spent most of our day after shopping for the ladies running from pub to pub, hotel to hotel searching for someone to let us tune in for a meager 30 minutes....30 minutes is all we asked to fulfill what at this point, we see as our destiny....
Lady luck, the fickle bitch that she is stymied us at every turn. Saturday, April 11th brought one of the biggest football matches of the year to the UK....no joy me hearties....Red Dwarf, Back to Earth, episode 2 seemed to be a ship we would not board...a train we could not catch....a lusty wench to be bedded by the whole of England excepting us.
Dejected and broken hearted...contemplating ritual suicide in the face of our dishonor and failure....we looked up to see the Hobgoblin. We had walked by the pub on the previous day in our first rambling about town, and we both remarked that it looked like a cool place, and that we should pay it a visit.
The door opens, and we are smacked in the face with the dulcet strains of one Mr Ian Fraser Kilmister....known to his initiates as Lemmy.
When is the last time you walked into a bar or pub in the US and they had Motorhead playing on the jukebox? I fucking thought so....we, my friends, were home.
A quick scan of the pub yielded no tele, so we resigned oursleves to drinking with these kindred spirts all night and drowing our misery in hand pulled pints of the ambrosia known as Hobgoblin ale....
While telling our tale to the manager and barkeep Darren...we were overheard by a sympathetic ear....our saviour, a man known only as John took pity on our quest...like the sword from the lake, he came forward to champion our cause....to end the suffering we had....we had.....suffered.
My Dad's better than your dad, he's got eight cars and a house in Ireland.
Sing It.
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