Speculation

Last night a rabble of librarians hit the town for a slap up grill and a drink. The meal was slap up, and the cocktail lent me sophistication hitherto undreamed of. I expect I shall satr using sophisticated words like "ambience" and "rendezvous" henceforth, on the strength of that drambuie and lemon based drink.
However, most notable presence at the bar was not me and my drink, (an odd sight with my shabby coat and scungy looking clothes), but a bunch of randy middle aged men. Their eyes lit up as they saw the attractive looking bunch of LAY-DEEES - excluding myself of course - and there was a lot of walking round with hands in front pockets. Framing the lack which is presumably compensated for with a small red sporty car. I was trying to figure out what they were there for, where were they from. I like to think they are pilots, in the school of Mile High.
Then this morning I was walking to work and had to skulk to avoid a large group of middle aged men crying in relief as they found the first pub of the octagon. It was not even 11 in the morning and I do not think there was a shadow past the yard arm anywhere.