The giant clunking bohemian fist.

The group across the room were bohemians. Are bohemians (I presume). Six of them, three men and three women. Let me start with the women.

Two of the women were in their fifties, wearing "shawls and things", as my great uncle would say. The third was clearly the gran. She was as shawled up as she could possibly be. A sort of bohemian queen I guess.

She was a real character, and the most noticeable thing was her giant opal rings. On her left hand she had four, on her right she had two. These were massive, massive, massive rings. Her great clunking bohemian fists were swung around with venom, clunk clunk clunk. I imagine health and safety would have had a field day. "Sorry madam, but they're just too dangerous. You could cause an earthquake with those. We'll have to take 'em in."

I'd like to dwell on this, it stressed me out a bit. I don't understand the concept of six rings, unless it was three on each hand. If I was a multiple-opal-ring-wearing-kinda-chap, which I'm not, I would go for a more consistent and symmetrical approach. You know, either four on each hand, or three on each hand, or none. Not that I can't cope with asymmetry - I don't mind a little bit of asymmetry - but four on one hand, two on the other, what the Hellman's Mayonnaise was she playing at?

It was probably just the whole anti-establishment, unorthodox, bohemian style, with the shawls and things.

And then there were the three gents. One of them was older than the others, mid sixties I'd say. He had an American accent, and was wearing a creased suede suit. Now here's the thing. It was so creased that it must have been deliberate. It was either bought from some bohemian clothes shop that sold permanently creased gear. Or he had crushed it under his car tire for a year to achieve the same effect. Or more likely, gran had creased it with her great clunking opal fists.

The funniest thing about this group is how well spoken they were. Even the Queen would have been jealous. The next chap thought he was Hugh Grant. I would place this chap in his later fifties, but he thought he looked much younger. With a sort of hypocritical twist, he had blow-dried Hugh Grant curtains. I say hypocritical, because surely that is not a true bohemian thing, hair dryers, salons, Hugh Grant, etc.

I don't have much respect for Hugh Grant lookalikes. I mean, Hugh Grant is a genius actor, although a bit samey, but why would anyone try and look like him?

His shirt was also terribly and deliberately creased, and partly hidden by one of those sleeveless puffer jackets - I have no idea what those things are called. Body warmers? I don't have much to say about the third chap. He was a bit younger, a bit smarter, and much quieter.

The bohemians had the table by the door. There was a clear reason for this. There was rarely a moment when they were all sitting down together. Most of the time they were smoking outside. Not cigarettes mind you, just cigars, cheroots, and bohemian rollups.

Note, I've nothing against these guys. Their bohemian extravagance simply caught my attention. Wine, cigars, cheroots, opals, Hugh Grant, wine, cigars, clunk clunk clunk, creased suede jackets, creased shirts, it was all too much.

We had to wait a long time for the bill. The bohemians were holding everything up. It was mainly Hugh Grant. Body-warmer on, he was attempting to negotiate the bill. We couldn't quite make out the point of dispute, but we got the gist. Something to do with a lobster. Hugh Grant felt that the lobster they had eaten wasn't a whole one.

Finally it got resolved, and out they charged, a thick bohemian cloud of smoke in their wake...