I was in a pub in London last night, I know that may not surprise you, but there it is.

Anyway, me and a bunch of the girls had been for Tapas, I had confused the waiters with my appallingly bad Spanish, and we had all decamped to the pub.

We sat chatting as the pub filled up around us, a couple trundled off and three of us, me, Marie and Naomi stayed. When we decided to leave half an hour later Naomi went off to powder her nose first vacating that holy grail of opportunities, a bench seat in a pub on a Saturday night. Thus it wasn’t long before three guys piled in with the standard “do you mind if we sit here”.

Naomi came back and we left, which means I hadn’t looked at my buddies, shared a moment of telepathic video conferencing jumped up and said, “it’s my round what do you want to drink”. We left with Marie protesting we were committing a grave error.

However the reason I didn’t want to stay is that although I respect these guys as people, in there semi balding, late 30’s, mediocrity, they were in fact, - Mingers.

• Minger – Term from Northern England meaning person of minging qualities, that being; ugly, smelly, scabby, or spotty.