in the 1980s, I worked as the agency truck driver in Oxford on my days off from the fire department. Early one morning I received a call asking me to drive a truck in Norwich things then bring another charge the next day. It was a fairly regular race for me and when it came, rather than staying in a hotel, I always used to plant with a companion of mine who lived in Norwich, and he and I would invest the generous housing allowance the agency gave me in her local pub. After that we would do our part for the Anglo-Indian relations by stimulating trade to the Taj Mahal Restaurant next door. Before leaving Oxford I called his house several times (no mobile phones at the time), but he did not answer, so I thought he was away and so I resigned myself to the fact that I had stay in a cheap room and breakfast and drink any change in my housing allowance on my own in a pub I could find nearby.
I arrived in Norwich afternoon, did all my deliveries and left the truck for loading overnight deposit as usual. Just down the road, I found a bed watching reasonable and breakfast, so I went in and rang the bell on the reception desk. A very nice old lady greeted me, relieved me of ten books and gave me my room key. She informed me that there was a bar which opened at 18 pm and breakfast is served in the dining room 7:00 to 10:00. I thanked her politely and headed disconsolately in my room.
I flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. At least there was a home bar so I would not need to go far to have a pint or two. A six on the point that I was in the bar exchanging pleasantries with the nice old lady who obviously has doubled as barmaid. There was a pay phone on the wall outside the bar in the hall, so I tried calling again my companion to see if he could at least join me for a pint. To my surprise, he said, and he pushed me to head for a place for our usual ritual. Excellent - except that I had already paid for my room. I said I would check and be right over.
I returned to the bar to think the best way to do it and dropped the nice old lady the first idea that came to mind: my wife had just given birth to my first child and I had to leave. As I stood there pouring lie upon lie wangle expecting a refund, three guys appeared beside me at the bar. They had obviously been staying at the B & B for a while because the nice old lady greeted everyone by name, and announced to them with delight that I had just become the proud father of a little girl bounce. The guys roared in unison, took turns shaking my hand vigorously and offered hearty and sincere congratulations. The nice old lady insisted I have another drink on the house before leaving and friendly bunch bought me one too. A cigar appeared from nowhere, and for the next twenty minutes, I had no choice but to fill in all the details surrounding the birth of my fictional girl. She was born two weeks prematurely which is why I was away (quick thinking), it was six pounds eleven ounces which is apparently quite heavy for a premature baby (whoops), and we were calling it after my wife Elizabeth (I still had to find and fertilize). I finished my beer quickly, as a new father, and when I took out my wallet to pay the bill of the old lady waved his hand dismissively. Red-faced, I thanked her and headed for the door in the middle of slaps on the back and "best of lucks" profiteer, and at the last moment the nice lady stealthily pressed ten books in my hand and whispered, "Go on baby now do you dear ... "
Probably the most shameful thing I've ever done in my life. well, certainly in the top 100. delicious curry well.