Fortuitous though it may be, the curtain’s been raised.

I am sitting in a pub, content, happy and slightly amazed.

There’s me, five staff and a bucket of sanitiser.

Like a diseased mad cow, I fear a taser.

I'm weighing up the pros and cons while wading into my third.

It’s gilt edged déjà vu, with a slight smell of turd.

The bar maid is thin haired with dodgy teeth.

A social veneer, wafer thin and nothing beneath.

I’m on my fifth and starting to worry about a name.

I saw it as a curtain raiser, but maybe it’s an end game.

I move to seven and things just will be.

It's not just a pubs name, it's curtains for me.