Last night I met a friend in the city. We went to the pub, there were no women. The place was a women free zone. Old men occupied the seats.
We sat, discomforted by the male domination of our watering hole, and spoke about Subtext plans. A man came over. He asked ‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?’. It was clearly a private conversation, as generally two people engaged in and talking animatedly about something are not offering their company to all in sundry passing by.
This man, told that the conversation was indeed private, did not leave, but instead pretended to be a crab, perhaps this was some kind of ploy to appear endearing. It failed and he appeared more annoying.
We left the pub.
The next pub we entered was also full of men. There was one other woman in the building, who was sat in a corner with a man whom she appeared to be in a relationship with. All eyes fell on us as we entered, ordered our drinks and found a set.
I ask you, where are all the women on a Wednesday night? Are they watching the Chippendales? Are they at home ironing the men’s shirts and caring for the children? Are they watching ‘Lost’ and the hot hot cast?
Sex and the City steered me wrong. They’re certainly not out boozing it up with their mates, unless they’re me, I like a bit of mid-week boozing.