There's no accounting for idiocy

I’ve just got back home after a great day out at the England v BaaBaas game at Twickenham, courtesy of the ever generous Mr. Kevin Keohane.

As is often the way with attending live sporting events, the rugby (great as it was) turned out to be largely incidental to the conversation, aided by the odd pint or four of the black stuff.

The high point? Wondering how on earth I’m going to get to and from the bar in time for the start of the second half, I emerge from the stand directly opposite a dedicated Guinness bar (there is a God!).

The low point? My illusions of rugby as a game for people of superior intellect is shattered when the guy in front of me finally reaches the front of the queue and orders two pints of lager.

(Apparently the backdrop of 50 or so half-poured pints, bar staff all dressed head to toe in Guinness gear and the words “GUINNESS BAR” written in large, friendly letters above the concession aren’t enough of a clue.)

Just goes to show, I guess. You can brand a space to within an inch of its life but, if your audience doesn’t get it, it’s all for nought.

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