Stella drips from a tap, a stained menu props itself against a beaker of straws, I contemplate one but somehow a straw in a pint of lager seems to be the icing on the cake of my unwanted femininity. I decline the beaker's kind offer and take my pint back to the table. I glance over my shoulder, a straw would be nice, but as I watch Ellen selfishly select the last green one for the G & T she'll buy later, I decide against it. Apparently I am a man and my lips are bound to make contact with glass forever.
As I stare intently at my pint, my tongue poking out a little as I concentrate on keeping my cider in it's glass on my journey to the table I see Angus eyeing up my straw. Having noticed only one green in a sea of yellow, I felt it best to stake my claim in advance. As I plonk my pint down on the table, my hard work is ruined and I am forced to wipe away a small percentage of my pint on my jeans.
"You know what we should do?" I say, too full of enthusiasm to find a beer mat to soak up my shame, "Start a blog."
"A blog?" Ellen nods "I've read some blogs" I say. Admittedly most of them were about election polls but it's important to seem like you understand these things.
"We should write a blog" Ellen repeats
"We should write a blog" I confirm, never the one to shoot an idea down as it comes kicking and screaming out of the subconscious twirling its umbilical cord about like a lasso of potential. Ideas are great, they're exciting and fresh, and Ellen has more of them than me so I start nodding ardently. A couple, two tables down, give us a weird look as we both keep nodding for a good thirty seconds until Ellen asks the question.
"What should it be about?"
At this point the conversation dwindles. As our eyes drift from each others, I wonder if I should keep my ideas to myself until they have a bit more substance. Ever since coming up with our epic team name of "Beer & Burger" I've had a plethora of ideas, which I find it impossible to keep to myself.
"Ellen?" I look up, suddenly aware that I have been blowing bubbles in my pint with my straw, completely ignoring Angus' response. "Sorry," I splutter.
"What do we both like?"
"I don't know... pubs?"
We do like pubs. It was true. Most of the time we gravitate towards them like a moth to a pint. I scratch my head trying to ignite some spark of creativity. My nose twitches, it senses the burgers approaching. My mouth salivates as the barman places them down in front of us. Ellen with the more continental chorizo and halloumi burger, and mine, with the more American, cheese, bacon, BBQ sauce and onion ring monstrosity. Say what you like about my diminishing masculinity - my burgers have more beef than my name and this alone qualifies me for manhood... or so my mum tells me.
"PUB LUNCHES! We both like pub lunches, we should write a blog just about pub lunches. We could call it 'Fingers in the Pie' and write about all the food: the smothered chicken, the burgers, the curries..." my eyes search desperately for inspiration, "the ketchup bottles!"
I love Angus, but my God he's over enthusiastic sometimes. I stifle a laugh in a mouthful of meat and rather unattractively start choking when I breathe in a piece of my bun. Eyes streaming I get back to business.
"Umm... yes. Maybe not the ketchup bottles?" Angus nods politely, a few bites of his food having restored his rationality. "And the name... I'm not so sure about the name..." On this point we clash, but eventually settle on coming up with a name another time as Angus jots down the title 'Fingers in the Pie' for later use.
So it was decided. We would write a blog about the life and times of two recently graduated twenty-somethings as they embark on the next chapter of their lives. I looked at the remains of my meal and my pint. The pub lunch years.
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