We had one hell of a time at our favourite pub last night, thanks to an evening spent with a couple of Belgian truck drivers, who just happened to be in the pub, looking to unwind after a day spent driving around south-east London.
Tom and Dick were impressed by the friendly atmosphere of the pub, and as the four of us set about knocking back copious amounts of ice-cold lager, Tony and me soon realised that we were in the company of some very serious drinkers.
Of course, being unemployed for the last four years, our financial situation is worse than pathetic, but thanks to Tom and Dicks generosity, the boy and me didn't have to worry about paying for any drinks, which is always something that brings a smile to our faces.
Tom and Dick both spoke better English than most of the dross we see in the pub every day, and entertained us with disgusting jokes, filthy anecdotes and sordid stories, which left Tony and me rolling on the floor in laughter.
We eventually finished the evening with whisky and more beer, before Sid, the landlord, brought our evening's session to an end.
Tom then asked us if there was any chance if he and Dick could sleep at our flat, because they hadn't had a decent night's sleep for ages.
Naturally, we would have been only too willing to allow our friends to get some much-needed sleep back at our flat, but as Tony rightly said, before we parted company, although Tom and Dick were more than great company, there's no way in the world we want a couple of fat, stinking, foreign truck drivers spending a night with us, unless, at a push, they're of the female variety.
I think Dick muttered to Tom that we were just another pair of English bastards, who had taken advantage of their kindness.
Tony just laughed, and after giving Tom his opinion of all things Belgian, we both ran as fast as we could, back to the flat.