There is a pub called the Flying Scottsman. It is a typical pub but the clientele are mainly tradies. Tradies are blue collar tradesmen. Miners, construction workers, you know the sort.

Well, one day I went for a walk to the local grocers to purchase some fruit and vegetables for my consumption. (One mustn’t die of starvation).

The grocery store is located at a slight angle facing the patio of this pub. One my walk I heard the most ghastly belch. It was a tradie. He was standing against a pillar and he was quite intoxicated. Apparently, he had been ejected from the pub and in lieu of actually leaving, he verbally harrassed the patrons.

Oh, dear. One such patron decided that this drunk man oughtn’t have spoken to his lass and the following ensued:

“Oi. You are bloody prick!”

“Fuck you. Wanker. You wanna go me mate? Yeah, go on. Go me! Bloody wanker!!”

“Get fucked ya cunt!”

Similar sounding, smelling, and socioeconomically challenged patrons stepped out to neither watch nor assist. They just wanted to smoke. Once finished, they went back inside the pub, paying never a mind to the current scuffle.

It was a bloody rippa. Hands down the fanciest and meanest sounding thing at the same time ever.