Bad Date

It’s the eyes that got you. Crystal blue and as sharp as a hawks own. She wasn’t the nicest woman to have even a rudimentary pint with in the roughest public house both sides of the Humber Estuary.

You went to the toilet after your third vodka and genuinely considered fleeing through the window and head to the nearest ferry port and get a ticket to Reykjavik.

But you were brought up to be a gentleman not a flea covered scumbag, so head back into the bar area and see her dancing with your ex-wife’s divorce lawyer.

So you’re free.