A Lost Cause

Then there's the Scottish table. A group of regulars who like to recreate the ambience of a bar back home. This seems to involve a lot of shouting, swearing and belly laughter. Some evenings they manage to dominate until maybe 7:30, but the disco always wins in the end. That, and the impossibility of imagining Helga's Chickens decorating even a Soho nightclub, never mind a grot-hole in Wishaw. Still, they try.

Rooney Tunes

Football is bad news, for a Chicken. When Man U and Arsenal are on the big screen you might as well accept that you're invisible. Not even crossing and uncrossing the legs on a high bar stool has any effect. Sulking is pointless, tantrums get you barred and questions about the game are just unwelcome, especially meaningless ones, "What countries are playing? Who is your favourite?" Rugby isn't so bad. It's over sooner and besides, you can enjoy the man-fest. Cricket? No challenge. Most of us only watch the action replays after a big shout. Howzzaaat? Drop-dead gorgeous.

Breaking the Ice

Some carry a notebook with useful phrases. "You take lady? Your friend take lady?" But the phrases are written in Russian, with the English translation rendered phonetically in the Russian alphabet. This makes it hard to suggest improvements. One red-haired girl has an unusual line of patter. "Do not talk to your friend. He is going to kill you." Clairvoyant? Or perhaps someone doctored the notebook.

Paranormal Ambiente

Where the Paranormal scores over, say, the York International or the Astoria, is in the girls' adherence to an unwritten rule outlawing serious hassle of the customers. Most of the girls, that is. You get the occasional Cling-on who won't take a hint, but she's the exception. In the Astoria in particular, you won't reach the bar ungroped, and leaving alone means physical unhooking of tentacles. Window shoppers beware.