I have become comfortably dumb

I had always assumed that the dullest thing on gods green earth was the verbose, prog, rock stylings of those hideous bastards Pink Floyd. Philosophical lyrics? Sonic experimentation? Elaborate live shows? Meh, who gives a rats ass? The fact that they are credited with influencing Genesis is nothing to be proud of. In fact the shame of that alone should have driven them into the hills to live the life of a recluse only surfacing from time to time to warn the kids to stay away from keyboards whilst under the influence of drugs, maaaaan.

there's a charming toilet scene in this story too...

I will never forgive Pink Floyd for unleashing that 95 minute long art college wankfest, "The Wall" on the world. Watching it was seen as a right of passage moment and no dissenting voice was tolerated. You had to play along and ooh and ahh and make like you were going home to write in your diary about it before cutting yourself to sleep in the bath. Depressing? Oh good god yes. Depressing and insanely boring. I was sixteen and full of Gothy joy and wonder. I did not share their dystopian view of the world. I had seen a real boobie and new that life was gonna be okay.

But oh good Gordon they are dull, so so dull and like I say I had always assumed that they, Pink Floyd, were the dullest thing striding the planet. But Sunday changed that, for the only thing duller than Pink Floyd is in fact fans of Pink Floyd. So much corduroy, so many beards, so much mumbling into beards.

It was Sunday night and all the lovely seats were filled with the corduroy'd bottoms of middle aged men most of which were sporting beards. I have never seen the beautiful restaurant filled with so many genuinely ugly people stroking their beards and rubbing the elbow patches on their home knitted sweaters. It was like a "Pink Floyd Fans Think-in" or Pfft for short. The Australian Pink Floyd were in town so hairy men were out in force. This was obviously to the delight of the women who are married to hairy men.These are the sort of chaps who own £500 Sennheiser headphones and refer to themselves, without any hint of irony, as audiophiles. They are philes alright.

Anyhoo most were easy enough to deal with, mumbling, beard stroking and waffling about live bootlegs aside. But one guy on one table was enough to bring all my distrust and repressed dislike for all things Pink Floyd, Australian or otherwise, back to the surface.

He was beardy in the extreme with grayish black hair emanating from not only his face but from his ears, nostrils and I swear to god his forehead. It was like there was no discernible break from head hair to face hair. I'm not sure if this hirsuteness was the cause of his bitterness or if it was the years of listening to Pink Floyd but he was unhappy about life. It didn't help that we were down a few menu items due to having had our asses handed to us the day before.

"So there is no tuna, no Caesar salad and only one seabass. What exactly do you have?", asks the bearded one with a tone that simply wasn't required. I wouldn't mind but he hadn't even looked at his menu.

Sunday night isn't the night to be snippy with me, I'll not be for taking it.

I stared at him for a second or two longer than he expected and this made him twitch. One nil to the waiter. "We have everything else....sir."

His bearded chums were actually rather pleasant despite none of them having apparently seen the inside of a shower in many a few years by the smell of it. And who the blinkers wears a heavy sweater to a gig, who? But I put my own health and well being to one side and tried a few one liners and witticisms which raised a few polite guffaws.

Yer man wasn't having it though and continued with the sniping and acerbic barbs. "Jokes a plenty but no tuna eh." I ignored him. When I asked him what side order he wanted with his lamb he replied, "Well what have you not run out of?" I was getting very fucking tired with this. "Chips? Do you have chips? Will you still have chips when my food is ready?" Again I ignored him but did cast him a very dirty look. Ooooh get me!

Just like most Pink Floyd albums/concerts he carried on along this repetitive, sardonic route for what seemed like an age. One irascible, sarcastic, captious remark after the other. I wished there had been a wall and he was on the other side of it. Bearded buffoon.

The arrival of his food seemed to shut him up if only for a moment. But finally there was some relief and all round the restaurant the bearded wonders were happily chomping away and when they weren't chomping they were pulling dropped bits of food from their beards. Nice.

I took this opportunity to go to the bathroom mainly to check emails but I also needed to go. But Gordon damn it the stalls were all taken leaving me to bob my phone back in to my pocket and having to brave the uncouthness of the urinal trough. Oh my. And guess who walked in? That's right my bearded and sardonically witted chum with all the smart assed remarks. Personally I think nothing messes up the waiter/guest relationship more than the sighting of each others pee pees.

Just as he approached the light that had been flickering finally snuffed itself out. With only the light from yonder window breaking I'm not sure he realised it was me that was in the bathroom with him. So I seized upon this opportunity for revenge. All those nasty comments had bothered me and it's rare that a waiter is presented with such an obvious opportunity to get their own back.

"Oh what a big cock!", I remarked in the direction of his teeny weeny.

Well I thought he would appreciate some dark sarcasm in the bathroom.....