The George in the '60s

A Black Maria is usually lurking. The drinkers spill onto the footpath after "Time, Gents, please!" to sign up for a promising party. To the nearby chipshop first for chips, potato scallops, pickled onions? The evening's flirtations across the bar are pushed a stage further. Who will go to whose party with whom? Which party is she/he going to? Whose car? Yippee beans in a matchbox?

Some are too drunk to play their hands effectively; they stagger, blithering or drooling; they sway, singing or spouting nonsense. Some of these end up in the Black Maria. No party? The Folk Attic? Surf City? King's Cross? The Piccolo? A walk to Paddington? A bus or train home?

Thanks to Beatnik Casbah for the scratchboard image.