Wingman from Hell (another Temple moment)

Once I found myself in my long-time favourite Oxford bar, The Temple, with my long-time No. 1 drinking buddy, The Bookseller, on a night when it was for some reason almost deserted.

Completely deserted, in fact. Since there were none of the usual regulars on hand as yet to give us a challenging game of pool, we decided to start our evening with a game of bar football instead (or 'Foosball' as our American friends insist on calling it.... but I never will). Though it lacks the tactical intricacy of pool, this is another game that has a Zen-like fascination for me, another game in which I acquired a significantly above-average skill level (on the defence bars, at least) through playing far too much of it in my teenage years.

Then two newcomers entered the bar. Both startlingly attractive young women. Both Australian, as I recall - although they had been in England long enough to soften all grating edges off the accent. We chatted a little; we learned that they were studying an IT course at the nearby Oxford Polytechnic (When did it reinvent itself as the John Brookes University?? I think this anecdote dates to about 1989 or 1990.). We challenged them to a doubles game of bar football. We weren't really trying to get anywhere with them (I was flying out of the country on a school trip - I was a teacher by then - to Greece the next morning); but they were extremely attractive; and a friendly rapport had been developed....

It was at this point that The Bookseller decided that we needed some 'team tactics' (for trying to 'pull' the girls, that is, not for winning the game, which wasn't proving that difficult). And, since he has always laboured under an inferiority complex in regard to our comparative attractiveness to the ladies, he selflessly offered to let me have a clear run at the one he thought I would find more attractive. Yes, he said: "You can go for the blonde; I'll handle the brunette."

Remember, this was in the middle of a game of bar football. The young ladies in question were all of about 2 ft away from us at the time. This was not therefore a helpful remark.

I think I somehow managed to make a joke of it, and they continued to chat with us - though much more warily - for another hour or so before disappearing.

Ah, The Bookseller! Never anyone's 'wingman' of choice. He doesn't mean any harm; he's just, well, crashingly un-self-aware at times. And completely crap at chatting to women.

Also, he's staggeringly inept at reading other people's interests and intentions. I was in fact far more smitten with the brunette (I seem to lack the requisite programing for blondes) - but I think he genuinely didn't realise that.