By
Rob
After escaping from the shambolic shitpile that was the South Sea, we finally headed to meet Danny. He had just completed his last day of employment at the Children's Hospital, and was celebrating with colleagues at The Doctor's Orders. Situated amidst the Hallamshire and Children's, this particular watering hole is a common haunt of doctors, nurses, and hospital staff.
Upon
arrival, we stepped into the nicely decorated, spacious venue and
wandered over to the bar. There was a good range of ales on offer,
none of which we'd tried before, and so I felt comfortable letting
Andy make the big decision on his own.
While
my compatriot deliberated over which beer to purchase, I spied Danny
over at the other side of the room. He was surrounded by a group of
people and, to my astonishment, most of them were young, female and
attractive. The conversation appeared to be flowing seamlessly. The
girls were smiling and laughing at his jokes. Everything seemed to be
going well.
Andy
stepped away from the bar, carrying the drinks.
"I
bought us two pints of --"
"--
Shush!" I interjected, cutting him off. Before he could inquire as to
my rudeness, I pointed to the other side of the room, in the
direction of our mutual friend.
"Oh,"
came the response. "Wow."
I
nodded. Wow indeed. For years we'd always viewed Danny as a hapless
fool where matters of romance were concerned. It was widely shared
wisdom that he was unable to successfully engage in any sort of
flirtation with members of the opposite sex.
And
yet here it was, in front of our very eyes.
We
had to ask ourselves: was Danny actually a ladies' man?
Well,
as it turned out: no.
Once
the safari-like experience of watching our friend from afar had worn
off, we walked over and said hello. In the subsequent conversations
that took place, it became readily apparent that Danny's relationship
with each and every woman present was strictly platonic, with no
possibility of any change to the deeply non-romantic nature of the
connection.
Reassured
that our basic understanding of the universe was not totally flawed,
we mingled with the crowd and drank our drinks. Thanks to Andy, we
were each sipping a pint of Sagres: a lovely light lager, which was
ever so slightly sweet.
As I
got chatting to the others, I was suddenly struck by the
realisation that I was getting demonstrably older. Making small talk,
I mentioned that The Doctor's Orders used to be my local, as I'd
lived only a few doors up the road during my first year of
university.
Except
back then the pub was called The West End, I had to explain.
And
my old house had been knocked down, I clarified.
Also,
the big supermarket and multi-storey car park didn't exist back then,
I pointed out.
Oh,
and the new hospital buildings weren't there either, I added.
Hearing
myself, I was reminded of almost every conversation I'd ever had with
my grandfather, who was unable to drive down a street without
embarking on a lengthy explanation of which buildings used to stand
where.
I
realised that I was getting old.
I
also realised that I was really, really bad at small talk. After all,
no stranger was going to be interested in hearing about where I used
to live.
The
hours rolled by and, inevitably, we got drunk. It was at this time
that Danny, in his heavily inebriated state, decided to sneak us into
the hospital with his staff ID card. He'd left something or other in
his locker, and needed to retrieve it. Stupidly, he suggested we
come along.
Minutes
later, we were doing what most people do after a visit to the pub:
drunkenly staggering around the basement of a hospital. It didn't
take us long to get lost in the warren of identical-looking corridors
and unhelpful signage and, before long, we found ourselves walking past the operating theatres (which were empty, thank God).
We
eventually found the locker room, eliciting curious stares from
some of the coffee-sipping doctors. Dressed in shirts and jeans, and
smelling quite strongly of beer, it was difficult to persuade anyone
that we, too, were hospital staff. Fortunately, Danny recognised a
few of the faces and made up some ridiculous excuse as to why we'd
ventured into the bowels of the hospital with him.
As
he nipped into the changing room to retrieve his belongings, I
decided to make small talk with one of the doctors sat across from
me.
"Did
you know that I used to live around here?" I asked.
Pub:
The Doctor's Orders (412
Glossop Rd, S10 2JD)
Rating:
7.5/10
Pint:
Sagres
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