Another early lunch at the Post & Telegraph (20 June 2011), North Street, Brighton, liver transplant here we come. It’s 11.22am and packed with many regulars, average age 63 I’d guess. To my right there’s a white-haired woman in her 70s with an unkind protruding chin and a half-empty pint of Guinness in front of her. She begins to talk at such a frantic pace to her friend about her own funeral arrangements that her falsies slip out! I’m not kidding. She catches them in time before they nose-dive into her pint – the fact that she displays no alarm at this extraordinary incident suggested to me that this was not the first time she had juggled with her teeth over a pint glass. With no shame she expertly slams the falsies back in, carefully avoiding her chin, a major obstacle in itself – and carries on yapping at an even more frenetic pace than before.
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