A quick perusal of Steve’s guide to our trip to Brussels will unearth the odd reference to that old favourite subject of the Publog. The Pub Nutter. Over the case of our bar slouch (not pubs, not crawling) we came across three of this breed. All different, all with one thing in common. Us. You see I have come increasingly to the opinion that, at the lowest end of the scale, I definitiely am a pub nutter catalyst. However, I get the terrible feeling that I might actually be a pub nutter full stop.

Not straight away, just after a few beers I get garoulous and will talk to you. And not necessarily about ordinary things like how long you have been waiting at the bar. No I could quite easily launch into an in depth conversation about my tricky work-life at Deptford Sewage Treatment Plant, or the pressures of being an EU Beef Inspector. After having a long chatr with the “First Fackin Pank in Brussels” it became clear that whilst he was an honest, exuberant drunkard I am more twisted. I am a pub nutter.

(The toothless fellow at Lop Lop was no pub nutter, rather a proper Pub Loonie – whilst the American was merely a pub bore. Spotters tips coming…)