Mad Sunday

Pulling up at a local hotel I sensed something was wrong when I noticed the vehicle next to me was covered in mud, had 2 flat tyres and a piece of the body detached. It was the apparent the driver had made it TO the pub, but wasn't leaving at any time in the near future. As I entered the bar I became aware that the regular quiet Sunday recovery session had been replaced by a rowdy profanity laden "wake" for a local football team whose season had ended prematurely in a finals defeat.

Thinking it wise to befriend the natives, I approached one of the young men to establish a rapport. His preference for hip hop and grunge music suggested problems, although it seemed "The Gambler" might pacify them should the need arise. Disturbingly,  he confided  intentions to stay for the rest of the day. My immediate thought was that the "non-service to intoxicated patrons" laws would surely nullify such an ambition, but this was quickly tempered by the knowledge the publicans rarely withhold service to customers who are conscious and financially flush.
Abandoning hope in any adherence to the law,  I decided the best approach was to ignore most activity and concentrate on the task at hand - entertaining the audience. Not an easy task amidst an increasingly  unsteady group whose members amused themselves by pushing and shoving, showering each other with ice and twisties, issuing challenges with bar stools and continually  requesting "Hotel California" in the face of repeated admissions that it couldn't be done.
With any sense of social propriety and moral inhibitions long lost in the haze, the behaviour eventually descended into public indecency as the group developed an insatiable desire to expose their sexual organs and buttocks. Still no move by the management to evict.

The occasional visitor drifted in, exhausted by the day's book fair, but invariably made the choice to relax at another venue.

Any hope of responsible adult role modeling disappeared with the arrival of a group who had been  drinking continuously  for 38 hours to celebrate a 69th birthday. The suggestion by one of the members of this group to the footballers that they engage in a competition comparing the size of penises seemed too much for even the intoxicated young men, who retreated to the edge of the bar to grind twisties into the beer sodden carpet.

After 3 and 1/2 hours (but what seemed like 3 1/2 days)  it came time to bid farewell and pack up amidst of cries of "one more" and claims that "you've only just started". 

As I drove away I observed that the aforementioned damaged vehicle maintained its uncomfortable slump against the kerb outside the pub, but by now its indignity had been heightened by a dampened interior as a result of drizzling rain and half open windows.