Three adventures

Watch out - Rosey has the darts!
There are two things every pub needs. A darts team and a regular quiz night.
Our local The Bicycle Arms, colloquially known as the Bike, take both activities very seriously. None of our group is particularly adept at the sport of ‘arrows’ and we are only allowed near the dart board on non-match days or when the teams are not practicing. Plus there is a seclusion zone ten feet around the ‘oche’ when Rosey has a throw!
You wouldn’t describe her as a bad player. Dreadful would be nearer the mark! Darts all over the show! In the ceiling, in the wall, in someone’s steak and fries one evening!
The other day Dave the landlord gave us some new darts to play with. Rosey went first, and her aim was remarkably good for a change. Unfortunately as each dart hit the board it leapt backwards and fell to the floor. Rosey got a bit grumpy! She said they were useless – too blunt! But in true Rosey style she had forgotten to take the plastic point protectors off before using them. We removed them for her, and off she went again.
The first one hit a wall lamp and ricocheted to the left landing in a pot plant. The second one, although a pretty good shot, failed to penetrate the board and fell to the floor. The third actually stuck in the treble twenty! She broke into a contented grin, and then advanced forward to retrieve her darts from their various landing sites. As she bent down to pick up dart two, dart three dropped out of the board and stuck itself into the neck of her sweater. No harm done though. She said she just felt a bit of a prick! She has such a way with words!
We’ve never really got involved with the pub quiz either, but we thought perhaps it was time we formed a team. Every team has to have a catchy name, so the five of us sat around a table to have a brainstorming session in the hope of coming up with something which best described our posse.
United Friends, Friends United, Clever Friends, Friendly Five – the names kept coming. Then, tongue firmly in cheek, I suggested Friends Using Combined Knowledge. I said we could be known by our acronym. Well, we all fell about laughing – except Rosey who pulled one of her worried looks. Either she didn’t know what an acronym was, or she couldn’t work out what it would be.
‘I don’t get it’ she giggled! ‘What’s so funny?’
We told her to get some paper and a pen and write it down. Suddenly she got it! She grinned from ear to ear, and then suddenly snapped into a disapproving frown.
‘We can’t call ourselves that!’ she squealed. ‘What would my mum say?’
We settled on The Famous Five!
I had some mates round for dinner the other evening. Needless to say my friend Rosey was late. She came via my old address which I left a year ago!
Anyway, she rushed into my lounge, sniffed and said ‘I smell foul’.
Actually she smelt very sweet! Maybe a bit heavy on the Eau d’ Fleurs Sauvages, but nice. We all assured her she was wrong.
She wiggled her nose and said ‘It’s not a fishy smell is it?’‘No’ we all said as one. ‘It’s a lovely smell’
Then she said ‘So what are you cooking then?’I told her it was roasted chicken and she said ‘Then I was right!’ I said I smelt fowl’ .

Lunch with Rosey
Rosey and I decided to meet for lunch today. It was a beautiful sunny morning and warm. More like April than February. We arranged to have a drink first at a bar at Sovereign Harbour in Eastbourne.
Now this bar is on the second level above the other restaurants and bars, and has a lovely sun terrace where you can look down at the boats and people below. Anyway, we both ordered pints of IPA and leaned on the railing to watch the world from on high.' Unfortunately Rosey let her full glass tilt slightly letting a small trickle of beer find its way to the level below and onto the shiny bald head of an old gentleman sitting below. We thought it would be prudent to retreat inside before he looked up and spotted us!
Then off we went to one my favourite town pubs, The Marine in Eastbourne. Whenever I go there I tuck into one of their fabulously succulent half pound burgers dripping with chilli con carne!It’s a messy meal to eat and best approached with pair of eating irons rather than attempting to pick it in your hands!
Now I have something of a reputation for covering myself in food withanything runnier than a cheese sandwich. But if you think I’m clumsy, then you can’t have seen Rosey!
So when she decided to join me in a chilli burger I subtly suggested she reconsider and perhaps order a ham salad instead! But no, she was determined, so armed with a pint each of Harveys best, knives and forks, and a million paper napkins, we set about the task of manoeuvring our food from the plate to the mouth!
I started off well! But Rosey fell at the first hurdle! She dug her fork into the part of the burger nearest the rim of her plate and pressed down on it with her knife. The plate suddenly tilted catapulting a shower of tomatoes lettuce and red kidney beans all over the people sitting at the next table!
The whole thing was observed two elderly grey people sitting opposite who were vaguely reminiscent of couple of sacks of vegetables. They were slowly chewing the cud, stopping only briefly to simultaneously tut-tut!
This episode reminded me of another occasion when a group us went out for a ruby at the Ashoka Tandoori. Indian restaurants are always busy about the time the pubs close, and this night was no exception. Dear Rosey had been on the chardonnay for about 4 hours at The Cavalier in Carlisle Road and was a little squiffy to say the least!.
Well when her meal arrived, a chicken tikka massala, she wasted no time in digging her spoon in and aiming it in the direction of her mouth. I say in the direction. The spoon shot up, her mouth opened, but the curry went straight over her right shoulder. Not once but again and again. She was getting increasingly frustrated and hungrier by the minute until our friend Pete decided to forget his own dish of food for the time being and act as a human navigation system by grasping Roseys wrist and guiding her spoon in the right direction. The task was not made any easier when Rosey got a fit of the giggles then nearly choked!
As the waiter arrived with a somewhat timely plate of hot moist towels, Rosey raised her glass to him, and in her best private school accent said ‘Cheers big ears, her it goes nose, up your bum chum’.'Now I’ve heard her use this toast before – she once stood up at a very starchy wedding feast and proposed it to a startled table of diners. I had hoped that my little lecture on the unsuitability of these words in all but the most private of functions would have sunk in, but no!.
At least with Rosey around, life’s never dull.