The people you (don’t) meet in pubs

So I’m sitting at the bar in the Agricultural, a pub in Islington, last night, nursing a pint and waiting for my friend Bill to turn up. Several American guys come in. Two of them look familiar, kind of. They’re sitting either side of me at the bar, but I don’t speak to them. I’ve been living here long enough to have overcome the urge to speak to anyone I meet with an American accent.

Anyway, I finish my pint and go over the road to see if Bill is waiting for me outside the Islington Academy. He is, so we go in and watch Glenn Tilbrook finish his solo acoustic set. Then the band we really came to see comes on and I’ll be damned. I’d been sitting in the pub between Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger (AKA Fountains of Wayne), probably the two greatest songwriters currently alive on this planet. I’ve really got to start watching more MTV. If only I’d recognised them, I’d have bought them each a glass of mexican wine.

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