Lonely Rousse does a runner

I sat in the crowded pub hoping that someone would notice that I was on my own and strike up a conversation with me. Nobody made a move – not even the couple next to me, despite my attempts to provoke them by stealing their black felt tip pen. I decided to leave.

The waitress stopped me at the door and asked me to pay for the tumbler of tap water that I had consumed.

“That will be four months” she said, quoting the price in the new currency. I was no fool. I knew the exchange rate. This equated to £8 for half a pint of water!

I pointed out that you could get a Coke for £1.65 at any other bar nearby, and stormed out without paying.

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