Fortuitous though it may be, the curtain’s been raised.
I am sitting in a pub, content, happy and slightly amazed.
There’s me, five staff and a bucket of sanitiser.
Like a diseased mad cow, I fear a taser.
I'm weighing up the pros and cons while wading into my third.
It’s gilt edged déjà vu, with a slight smell of turd.
The bar maid is thin haired with dodgy teeth.
A social veneer, wafer thin and nothing beneath.
I’m on my fifth and starting to worry about a name.
I saw it as a curtain raiser, but maybe it’s an end game.
I move to seven and things just will be.
It's not just a pubs name, it's curtains for me.