Help! Where Have My Veins Gone?

There we were, all having as nice a time in Oop-under-North as it's possible to have, when someone suggested we stop off for a cuppa at the local Weatherforks. My heart sank. Weatherforks is not my sort of place, but not wanting to be difficult, relented gracefully.

It was actually alright, the chap swearing behind the bar was quite good at pouring boiling water into a mug. He didn't go that extra mile and actually unwrap the over-wrapped tea bag and immerse it in the water. I comforted myself with the thought that he was obviously following the Italian method of tea making (not one I'm a proponent of however). We found the best seats in the house, squishy settees, and I sank happily into one and enjoyed the chat and started thinking Weatherforks wasn't that bad.

After a while I went off to find the facilities and was shocked to find my veins had disappeared. Had I yet again transformed into a zombie? The 'ladies' was quite posh, but lacked the plush, deep buttoned, crushed velvet I would hope Weatherforks would have in their 'Heaven' branch, and luckily obviously wasn't quite bad enough to be 'the other place' (although some Weatherforks might well be). Was there an extra ingredient in the hot water that had sent me speeding to the afterlife? I felt a sharp pang of resignation that my last moments on this earth had been in Weatherforks, but you don't always get to choose I suppose.

Luckily it turns out the special lighting effect was to stop junkies finding their veins to shoot up. I made a note to add establishments with blue lighting in the lavatories to my list of places 'not to frequent'.

While I'm at it, I'll add anywhere with a bouncer on the door.