Tuesday afternoon I ended up at a pub with three of my colleagues, to watch the Bafana-France match. We shared a table with two young women, both of whom gleefully told me that they were unemployed. The aspiring musician became the focus of the attention of a pickled, young guy who took it upon himself to put the business end of a vuvuzela down his pants in the bum region, and the remove it and blow it with his mouth. At this point, the object of his affection remarked: “So this is what life’s come to – you get dumped, you wonder why, and then someone who has pooh on his lips wants to kiss you.” Pooh-lips went on to sit on the lap of a guy who made the Michelan Man look anorexic. Quality stuff, I say.
The worst of men at pubs