Walking the Line

So I'm propping up the bar totally deflated that the poxy Trivial pursuit machine has fleeced us of another £2 by asking goddamned stupid questions that no one can possibly know the answer to. The barman walks up "Cheer up." he says "We're cleaning the lines tonight."
"Whoopeee!"
Now to clean the lines they got to draw off, because of the distance from the tap to the barrel, on average of three pints a tap. There's seven taps in the public bar and another five in the saloon that all need cleaning.
Last customers are shown the door leaving the hardcore regulars, blinds are pulled lights turned down low and the barman proceeds to start pulling the pints / I mean wastage. I don't think anyone has shown so much interest in the pulling of a pint ever before. Except this pint is free, we look at each other like some magnificent seven showdown who's going to be first to grab the free pint, before we can decide and before knives are drawn there's another pint on the bar then another before we know it theres twenty one pints on the bar of all types of beer and they're still coming and there's only five of us.
We drank, we quaffed we could have bathed in the stuff, it was all free,wonderful. The stories told at the bar became longer, links more tenuous, jokes for some unknown reason hilarious. But even when the beer is free certain factors come into play.
1. I can only physically drink so much.
2. I'm already pissed
3. I've got to work tomorrow
4. there was a fourth point it was ever so relevant last night.

We get a taxi home, "You coming in for a night cap?" my mate asks "Usual rum and coke to see you to bed."
"Am I eckerslike." it's my northern upbringing that comes out when I'm drunk.