The Tale of Mr 70

While enjoying some time out on the town in Leeds there was a small mater of dispute between our gathered folk and a gentleman we later have come to affectionately know as Mr 70.  To call it a territorial dispute would be, perhaps, an overstatement but none the less the Tale of Mr 70 takes many (few) twists and turns in an epic voyage of loss, rediscovery and abandonment…. read on.

We had gathered in celebration of the end of Uni exams for some fine and worthy folk. This, as you’d expect, involved cocktails and enchiladas. Oh and tapas and let us not forget the chimichanga. Delicious. Las Iguanas, by the way, does great cocktails and latin food.

I’ve never understood why spanish / mexican style grub / culture is referred to as “latin” or “latino”. Surely latin would be more something associated with Rome, Romans or at very least Italy. Answers to this conundrum on a stamped addressed comment below.

Anyway, I digress. We relocated to a pub for some further fine beverage appreciation. The place was busy with few tables to be had but that was ok, for we had booze. “HARK!”, cried one of our number. “For that table… it has become unoccupied!”* We made our way to said table and gathered around it and yea there was much rejoicing.

Some moments later an elderly fellow approached our personal space and testily announced “I was sat there”.
The statement seemed informative and I had no reason to doubt his claim so I cheerfully replied “Ok… and now you’re not :) ”
The elderly fellow seemed in desire of further conversation and so continued
“I was sat there, I had a beer”
Now at this point it’s important to be aware that there was indeed what appeared to be an abandoned beverage on the table. We had shifted it to another, less desirable, empty table.
There was talk of having “only gone out for a smoke” and how this was “just rude” yet he “came here every day and never had this happen”. Aaaah, we thought, you’re a drunk. It all makes sense. Apparently because we didn’t all live permanently in the city centre we couldn’t possibly understand.

After the question “Would you like us to move?” was posed the drunken table-theivery victim grumbled to himself, retrieved his pint, and ambled away. I couldn’t help but feel that we had somehow wronged him. What if this WAS his table? What if he really did have some sort of time honoured claim to it? Surely if that was the case there would be some form of notice or labelling to that effect, maybe even his name. Then it became clear. The only identifiable marking upon the table was a small metal disc bearing a number.

So to you, Mr 70, I apologise for having savagely taken your abandoned table and relocating your lonely pint. I can only hope that you face not such rude and uncivilised folk as us again.

Epilogue:
Another table, occupied by a couple of indeterminate age but identifiably horrible dress sense, was later ‘abandoned’ in a similar fashion. I watched in confusion as the couple left two drinks and a mobile phone to enjoy a cigarette outside. Perhaps we were somehow in the wrong for concluding that a table that has had no occupation for 5-10 minutes would inexplicably want to become reoccupied by it’s previous tenant.

* quote may have been altered for dramatic purposes.