The Evening Star, Brighton

No sooner did I step into the Evening Star, but I was greeted by no less than six regulars swivelling on the surprising and individual rotating stools that stand beside the bar. Tossing my flowing silky blonde hair over my shapely shoulders, I approached the bar. A kindly gentleman allowed me a sip upon his "Starburst", which caused a great sensual flurry upon my tastebuds. I allowed him to buy me a pint of the "Starburst", which slid down my throat as smoothly as a greased oyster.

With a sly wink, the cheeky vegan barkeep then recommended a bottle of the Belgian Ale. Sipping on this rich Flemish Stout (about Eight and a Half Per Cent) I let my attention turn to the series of animals sliced and dried in South Africa. Nibbling on Spicy Beef, I allowed the Bearded Man next to me buy me a pint of the Traditional Cider, and, perhaps foolishly, take my Phone Number. I have yet to have a dirty phone call from any Morris Dancers, so perhaps my judgement was still sound.

A Delightful German Dark Smoke Beer out of a tall Glass and I was swaying on my seat, being asked by a Polite Englishman for a dance. The Friendly hands of the Barkeep roamed my back as he kept me upright and threw the both of us into a taxi. Never has passion been so great! I will return!

1 Aug 2006 19:10