Wooly Heads in the Morning.....

Last night I had a lovely evening with a couple of the girls from work. We had a meal in a 'brasserie' (bar with tiny restaurant, where the tables are so near each other, that if even if you weren't intimately acquainted with your neighbouring diners when you sat down, you were closer than family by the time pudding arrived....)

The table on top of beside us was a testosterone filled, alcohol fuelled, testament to male bonding ; twelve very drunk, loud blokes, who ate quickly (after the obligatory roll-throwing and waitress-baiting) and moved through to the bar. There seemed to be some sort of disturbance, because after about half an hour, two policeman arrived on the premises and started inviting various members of the party outside for a little 'chat'.

Naturally, we were dying to know what had happened interested, and I was nominated to also step outside, on the pretext of making a phone call (but in reality to listen to what was happening.)

The policemen were by now interviewing the bar manager, a serious liitle chap (whose gravitas was somewhat diminished by the fact he was dressed as an elf) and he was asked what had happened.

I waited expectantly....was it a fight over a woman? A disputed bar bill? Drugs????

'Well' said the manager, 'it all started with the Secret Santa.....''

I always forget, that big boys are really just little boys, with stubble.....