THE Fugitive seems to be on a mission these days. I don't know whether you could call it a midlife crisis but he is hell-bent on partying - and woe betide anyone who gets in his way. Last week he was apparently eager to impress two dodgy birds from Newport with his witty repartee, and last night it was the turn of another pair of unwitting ladies to fall into the mantrap.
These girls seemed to be wearing their corsets on the outside, rather like wannabe comic-book superheroes, and one article of atire particularly caught The Fugitive's eye. "Cam on love," he said in the kind of faux-Cockney market trader accent he puts on after a few pints of Carling. "Sit down ere and put those boots on the table."
Now anyone who knows the Fugitive is well aware of his fetish for a certain type of footwear. More specifically this footwear has to be black, zip up to the knee and teeter on sharp stilleto heels. We reckon he has a collection of this type of boot down in his Grangetown dungeon, and I have it on good authority that cold case detectives are still following up a few Missing Persons reports from the last 10 years.
In the end the Prince, myself and Smashy left the mad one to it, though I understand he was later to turn up at the City Arms.
I've found a good place for a roast dinner during the week, now that we have no canteen. It is well worth the trip for beef, yorkshire pud, three veggies and gravy. About time, too, because I was beginning to look like a sandwich.
The home of this marvellous dining experience is upstairs in Cardiff Market. Don't be put off by the name either: The Bull Terrier Cafe. I had to laugh though when I was asked if I wanted anything to accompany my feast and asked for English mustard. "We got any minger mustard, George?" shouted the enthusiastic young lady behind the counter. Guess the word English is taboo in these parts.