A night on the town

It's a myth, that there is life out there ! I'v just got back, no not from the outer Galaxy, but the Harvest Moon which is a little closer in. Sampling the flesh pots of Bishops Stortford I have come to the conclusion that there's more excitement in watching paint dry.
It was 8.00 pm on Friday night and I wondered in my hide-a-way what the other section of society got up to.
The first pub I went into, it was convenient, was a Bob the Builders pub The Marne. Extremely noisy, I thought I had stumbled onto a Gay gathering. 
During the day the pub is full of Plasterers and Painters clearly identifiable by the paint and the putty covering their shirts and trousers. In the evening there seemed a metamorphosis. The guys all slimmed down in tight fitting jeans and canvas shoes, no socks. They seemed to have a propensity for hugging each other and kissing on the cheek, unheard of in my day. 
The gals or should I say Molls were clad in little and revealed much. They didn't seem to mind the pawing that went on, taking it in their stride, since the night was young and "you ant seen nothing yet", I suppose was their motto !!
I wasn't shocked but such an outward display of crudity seemed par for the course in this age of moral illiteracy.


The Harvest Moon, a pub I was drawn to years ago when I first settled in Stortford was the watering hole of the guy who offered me a job when we came over. The team, for they always grouped as a team. Laughter and a male gusto was their trademark as I tried hard to understand the nuance of their humour. 
All long gone, there is no trace of the drinking school and the people there, who were more in keeping with my conservatism pooled their habit into couples or larger groups out for a chat.
Nothing to draw me in I left and sped home to the surety of my iPad and a mug of sweet tea. The world outside will remain so for as long as I can remember that 'others' remain 'others' unless you make a big effort.