My sanctuary has been invaded.  My ivory drinking tower over-run by unwelcome guests.  I could hear them talking as I approached.  Knew that I was not going to be afforded the luxury of a quiet solitary pint.

It is unreasonable of me to expect perfect isolation.  I do not pay extra for this privilege.  I always knew that one day my lair would be discovered.

They are a party of five.  Middle-aged; three men, two women.  Work colleagues, not friends, although all perfectly friendly enough.  There are no bitter rivalries here.  Up to Town for a conference is my guess; killing time until the kick-off.  At least they are not sitting at my table.  That would be hard to stomach.

I try not to listen in on their conversation, but snippets punctuate my quiet corner:

“Smells of cat’s piss.”

“This is sweet.”

“Diabetes in a glass.”

“That’s dark.”

“Well, if you will choose a black beer.”

“Belgian.”

“That’s good.”

Everyone’s a beer critic.

“Didn’t know you could get a pulled pork pie.”

Mmm, pulled pork pie.

© Beery Sue

Beery Sue is not very sociable.