We went to a gastro pub to celebrate your birthday

We sat among the sunken silly jolly faces

All with their remembrances of former years

When they felt better about themselves

Or so they say

There’s the loud one

The opinionated one filled with facts about this

And about that

There’s the woman whose always in awe

Or is she just pretending

Because the man sitting opposite her is a total bore

Is he her husband or just one

of a number of long acquainted friends

then there is the one who is always interested

asking questions at every pause

 

all of then apparently happy

in their very own sequestered dream

floating in a bubble of wine

artisan crafted foods and beer from every region under the sun

with richly painted pastel national trust greys and greens

a modern grey and white living

garnished with flowers

specially baked bread and Waitrose on the high street

red and green tartan bows on the tree at Christmas

meat ethically killed culled and grown

on organically propagated farms

displayed in markets for the moneyed and the freaks

standing cheek to cheek

with every other four by four

row after row

their very own accessible rustic living chic

 

and when the meal is finished

and we walk away

I feel my own brand of disgust

Because I recognise I am

In some part one of them

Inverted and controverted

In both shape and form

Something of which I am not proud

A snob to the last