We were sitting outside Den Engel when an elderly chap with a walking stick said to his equally ancient colleague “these are the lads I told you about. It was in a back street pub in Ealing after an England Wales game and this lot were having a fine old time in the back room when the landlady shut them up. She’d already banned them from singing. She said she had a music licence but they weren’t allowed to sing. Then she went in and told them no recitations either so they left. ”
He then said to me “worst decision we ever made not to come with you; it was the most boring Saturday night after an international that I can ever remember.” He asked if we could give them and their wives a song and Gregg wound us up for the Medley/Strolling to let them know what they had missed. The four of them pottered off across Grote Markt no doubt wondering about coincidences.