Craic On

I went to have a cuppa with my friend The Big Cheese. He’s always late so being punctual gave me ample time to navigate the “patrons only” use of the loo rule, before I became a patron. The deal is that there is a code on your till receipt that is the code for the loo. I didn’t yet have a till receipt and was reluctant to stake my place at a table with my coat, just in case someone my size fancied that coat as much as me. So, at the counter I didn’t look much like a serious prospect but more of a chancer. Not to worry, the code, I was informed, was stuck to the door. The code was indeed stuck to the door, just above the keypad. Both were impenetrable. Back to the counter, still wearing my coat. I explained my predicament. It gets dull after a while, to have to keep saying that you cannot see to do such and such and need a spot of help. The incredulous server looked puzzled. “You can see. The code is on the door,” she said. “I know it’s on the door,” I laboured while crossing my legs. “I just can’t re