NOT IDEAL

"It's not a dodgy pub is it?" I asked. Simon said he didn't think so. We pushed open the door. Battleship grey walls, sticky tables, a big TV blaring Sky Sports in the corner, a barmaid with hair pulled tightly back into a bun and three burly men perched on the edge of their bar stools. They turned and looked at us briefly and then went back to examining their rust-coloured pints. The barmaid raised her eyes inquisitively as if to ask the unspoken question. Simon looked at me, I sighed inwardly and with a note of inevitability said, "I'll have a coke please."

It wasn't the ideal place for a choir team meeting.