Very hungover after drinking with a group of weirdos at the Town House last night (after we left the King’s Arms). Kenny, from Stoke-on-Trent, bartends somewhere else in town and was getting picked on by this big Greg Proops looking motherfucker from London (Kenny kept calling him cockney but he was pretty posh); the third one is the manager at the Town House. Days later and every so often thereafter, I would meet someone and Kenny would come up in the conversation usually with me asking if they were familiar with him; “Oh, yeah, Kenny…EVERYONE knows Kenny.” All were very drunk when we arrived only slightly drunk; we soon caught up to them, learning some new terminology:
“Where you from then?”
“Fuckin’ ‘ell; what are you going to Stretham for?”
“We live there.”
“Kenny! They’re not just Americans; they’re Fennies.”
I agree, this isn’t very funny but that’s the measure of our inebriation; we found that hilarious at the time. Nothing was funny the next day at work and I decided a pint and some fatty food at lunch would help. That’s how I found myself in the Prince Regent, round the corner from work.
They advertise 2 for 1 meals, but from the stale state of my burger bun, the wilted greens that were obviously not wilted by any of the long-since-gone heat of my chips, and the fungus laden IPA I was given I don’t know that I would consider the 2-for-1 meal much of a bargain.
The pint helped, it just wasn’t very tasty.
The back room of the Prince Regent opens out onto the park, which is probably the big attraction after the bargain priced (but no bargain) nibbles. I am not rushing back to this place.