Well, in the slightly geeky spirit of the OP, I ended up trying to name all 50 states tonight down t’ pub, and got 46 of 'em. Missed Idaho, Utah (can’t believe it), Wisconsin and another one I’ve already re-forgotten. We got 24 of 25 EU members, foiled only by Hungary, and decided in advance not to even try to name English counties because we’d fail miserably and moreover were pissed by that stage. To add insult to injury, I’m an American citizen and we were aided by some random passing dutch people and their dog. So you can tell your boss to cock off, because 2 PhDs, 3 MScs and a dog couldn’t name all the states given 3 and a half hours and 17 pints of Leffe between them.
Thanks for that; I am already having horrible nightmares of what they will come up with to entertain us at the company party next month… Now I am sure to wake screaming in the night!
Believe me fellow dopers - I feel Gomi’s pain. Not only does he have a shithouse boss and work for a company with a two-bob party but he lives in Fulham - which is INTOLERABLE at this time of year.
All the pubs (of which there are a gratifyingly large number) fill up with amateur drinkers who get pissed at the first sniff of the barmaid’s pinny.
The tribes of Foolham can be described thusly:
Men; MPS (because proper schools play football don’t ya know) fops with tall hair, a rugby shirt with the collar turned up (for fuck’s sake) standing in groups blocking doorways and toilets drinking beer out of bottles with bits of fruit in the neck, and disappearing to the bogs every 15 minutes to powder their noses with the only substance on the planet that can make them MORE arrogant.
Dispite being about 25 they will end the evening at an “ironic” 80s disco.
Cheese-whistles the lot of 'em.
Birds: Always blonde with good teeth, Usually dressed in either gap-casual or for more formal occasions a little black number from Huttons in Putney. Get horribly maudlin when they’ve had a few Breezers. Rubbish shags (BTW I have just described my starter wife).
Christmas is hellish as on top of these we get the office parties - pissed blokes in their Nino Cerrutti worksuits trying to chat up the fionas, emmas and Jemimas and wondering why they aren’t getting anywhere (it’s 'cos you have a five figure income you losers - and that’s all that counts to the Jocastas of this world).
The only pub in Fulham that’s completely proof against all this is the Golden Lion in Fulham High St - and that’s because it is dickensian (and not in a good way).
Let me just add in a hearty ‘hear hear’ to the above; I actually prefer, if staying local, to go across the River to Putney or Clapham to go out; it’s much more fun and far fewer snobby assholes and gold-diggers to fight through.
Although I must say the Sloany Pony (aka White Horse) is a pretty good place for a meal, and it is simply loaded with good restaurants. I just avoid the bars like the plague around here!