The Fate of Mankind

Yes, summer is here and the wind blew water from the fountain over my table. It was a useful top up for the coffee, but inside I went. 

The fate of mankind was revealed to me.

One alpha male ancient guy barked out a series of spell binding stories from 1956. His coterie of shrieking female admirers egged him on, his deep voice crackling like new sandpaper and eyes spinning into orbit. In fact, the whole scene was rather like watching ten worn-out Sputnik satelites circling the earth. The earth itself was craggy, green and brown, and full of water. There was a suggestion of small creatures lurking in the creases.

Yet, at a nearby table the fate of mankind could not have been more different. A tiny bloke sat in the centre of seven or eight bloated haridans. His wife regaled the assembly with excruciating accounts of his recent operations, triumphantly concluding that during his last admission his urine retention was almost a litre, (relieved only by belated catheterisation). His struggling, squeaky voice was totally  overpowered by the mighty din around him, and he slowly disappeared under a sea of heaving buttocks and bosoms.

It was joked in the hotel* that old men often came in vertically, and went out horizontally. I checked my orientation and sidled out while I had the chance.

Jam in the sandwich...

*Please note that this is a fictitious 'hotel' partially constructed from many different experiences of venues around the north of England. Any similarity to particular real premises is therefore purely coincidental.