Bengal Tiger, London (3rd May 2005) by mnewton

Another Ruby Tuesday appeared over the horizon at a remarkable pace, feeling like it had only been a couple of days since the last one. I put this bizarre ripple in the space time continuum as being a result of my advancing years and having to work rather to hard than is seemingly for a Gentleman of my stature and advancing years.

My somewhat tardy e mail announcing the venue for the evening?s festivities was rewarded by a small clump of overweight middle aged blokes resembling the sort of flotsam and jetsam found in the corners of particularly scummy French container ports, giving the superb interior of The Blackfriar public house a rather pallid look. The meagre collection of hen pecked husbands consisted of Junior, Pymy and even by his standards a particularly obnoxious and somewhat worse for drink Zippy.

So despite another mediocre show of ROTters we met at the Blackfriar and imbibed on several pints of delicious real ale, in my case Timothy Taylors Landlord and also drank in one of the finest public house interiors in London, nay the UK.

We then proceeded to a Indian Restaurant called the Bengal Tiger on Carter Lane, however we got waylaid at a pub, the name of which escapes me now, but they were showing a football match between Chelsea and Liverpool. Now I don?t follow football much now, but my brother, a keen Rugby player, informs me that basically the game now consists of ?talent scouts? cruising unsavoury council estates for the most unpleasant oiks they can find, paying them six figures a week to, fight and swear in front of impressionable youths on a Saturday afternoon, and then spend their evenings driving their fast expensive cars into people and inanimate objects, leaving the scene of the carnage before plod arrives to point out that they probably shouldn?t be driving at high speed with excess alcohol in their bloodstream and half a kilo of Charlie up their nose!