The best pub in Reading is not the Hobgoblin; that honour belongs to The Retreat (not to be confused with The Monk's Retreat, which is a right shithole). The other night I was there for my customary pint of winter warmer, crafty snout etc. and overheard the following conversation, which I may have embellished slightly:
'Hear 'bout that Assange? 'Parantly a couple o' Swedish sorts found out 'e two-timed 'em. Instead o' cuttin' up 'is shirts they went to the pigs and cried rape.'
'Sounds like a load o' bollocks to me. 'Ooever 'eard of a Swede wha' needed forcin'?'
'Nah, didn't force 'em. It was all above-board like, but 'is condom broke, an' in Sweden that's enough to get yer banged up.'
'Cos 'is johnny broke? Seems a bit 'arsh.'
'That's Sweden for ya. I 'eard they even removed the pissers in one school cos standin' up for a slash was 'a sign o' male domination.''
'Blimey, so Swedish boys gotta squat. Poor bastards. Don' wanna go there. Beer's pricey too, from what I 'ear.'
'£5.00 a pint.'
'Wallander was good though. Not the foreign lingo one, the one with wossisname, you know, the Paddy 'oo was big a few years back.'
'Yeah, shacked up with tha' Thompson... Didn' she dump 'im?
'Yeah, my shout?
© Simon M Hunter 2010