Lonesome River Walk
* Friday. Here again at this time of night with these same noisy, drunken fools. Why at 11pm every Friday night do I find myself sitting at this same stupid, crowded horrid little table with a the same damp beer mat covered bar jutting in to the back of my head? Three pints down and straining over the alcoholic hubbub to hear Steve telling me about the Hammers chance for glory this season. Steve has never played football and doesn’t know anything more than what he gets off the telly. I can’t stand football chat but nevertheless I sit with my plastic smile and mild mockney accent listening to my boss waxing lyrical. At least we are not talking programming, I think Steve knows less about his second favorite topic of C standards than he …