So, last night, our options were:
1) Stay in the pub and experience lesbian improvised comedy.
2) Run out into the rainstorm and get pissed on.
3) Go downstairs and get pissed on. By old men.
We chose the dry option. It was not the correct decision.
I blame it all on Ed. He's a lovely friend from school, who's the straight equivalent of a gay man - slutty, wicked and mostly alcohol, he'd just broken up with one girlfriend (something to do with a Polish personal trainer), and was now dallying with a girl from the pony club (saddle in her bedroom).
Ed also happened to work round the corner from Central Station, and was dying to visit. He then refused to leave when he realised that it was Lesbian Comedy Night.
ED: It'll be like porn but funny.
ED: Oh, come on. Lesbians are hot and funny. Well, Sandi Toksvig is funny.
ME: She escaped.
The Lesbian Comedy Group began doing warm-up exercises by the pool table, much to the annoyance of the topless bears trying to finish off their game while ladies clad in black jumped up and down yelling "Go girl! Go girl!"
Ed stared at them, his heart sinking like a child at London Zoo - "Those are the lesbians?"
The lesbians to the stage and proceeded to be... worthy. Valiant. Honest. And not at all funny. It's been said that all comedy is at someone's expense, but this was free... unless you were in the audience.
About the only person interested was a very drunk truck driver called Brenda. And even she started heckling. At which point the leader of the troupe turnd to her and said, "Madam, I shall have to ask you to refrain from participating in the audience participation."
Ed turned to me and sighed. "I think I'd enjoy being pissed on more."