Diary date 20th March 2010

Arrive at pub early as requested, once again am decked out in vertiginous......etc etc etc. Have found dress in wardrobe never yet worn, and am feeling very daring, as has low neckline and is just above the knees. Hope will be lost in crowd and not viewed as Mutton Dressed as Lamb. Unfortunately crowd not yet arrived, nor has band, so keep coat on. An hour later band arrive and order drinks at bar before laconically setting up equipment. Am not sure what to expect as racy name implies something a little Out Of the Ordinary. Transpires Rex and the Foreskins, or Four Skins, ( I don't know which), are three very middle-aged gentleman, comprising accoustic guitarist, drummer and vocalist. Also have very young girl singer on board, so strange mix. After much Faffing About, crawling under seats putting plugs into sockets, they begin. Pub is really filling up now, so consider taking coat off, but hold back for a while. They start with some Irish folk-sings, and this is a Sing-Along, but unfortunately I don't know the words. Nor do most of the punters, although some are making extraordinary movements with their mouths in order to indicate they Do Know the Words. Things hot up, and they break into some more popular and well-known numbers from the Beatles, Rolling Stones etc. Pub is filling to bursting point, and I take off coat. Atmosphere is great with hearty singing and swinging of glasses in manner of German Beer Festival. By half-past ten it is impossible to exit pub through front door, bodies jammed in like sardines. I suddenly see Mrs Mateus Rosy fighting her way in through crowd, and am pleased to note she is still looking svelte and Gok-like in zebra striped dress and fishnets. Think perhaps fishnets and stripes may be fashion faux pas, but she carries it off. Evening grows ever more riotous as various people come up and sing. We have spirited and excellent rendition of 'No more a Rover', ( I think that's what it's called', to the accompiment of bashing of glasses and fists on tables, then a delightful ditty entitled, 'The MacAlpine Fusiliers', which I take to be an anthem to builders.

At half-past one we crawl home exhausted, but in my case, happy. They say pubs are closing at rate of fourteen a day in the UK, but our local is swinging! Long may it last. Goodnight.