Part #1 in a never-ending series of series which rarely progress beyond Part #1

It was more a bar than a pub, and more a student-type bar than a ahem actual real bar: ie tatty, with unfeasibly low tables and metal-frame easy chairs. The man at the bar decided to tackle me, to explain why I continue to feel uneasy in pubs, as if I’m just about to be found out. My order had after all been word-perfect, for once: “A pint of bitter” – *pointing* – “and a pint of Carlsberg”… Anyway, I am to blame, it seems. Apparently, when the barman had called a cab for me the previous xmas, and as he was holding open its door, he had pointed to the huge number of books I was manhandling into the back seat, and said “You should be very proud of all those wizard books you have there!” and I had replied (a bit distractedly) “I am.” Apparently this reply is considered a bit infra-dig in pubs (or student-type bars) and everyone now looks at me askance: hence my unease.

(The bitter was for Publog Ptee, if this is relevant.)