Eight out of ten (a dialogue)

( DAVE C, newly returned from his weeks' Mexican jaunt and brown as a berry, is sitting at a table in the Geriatrics' Corner of the Pub.)

ME: How was the holiday, Dave?

DAVE: Not bad. I'd give it eight out of ten marks.

ME: Only eight out of ten?

DAVE: There were one or two little problems. Our hotel room was so filthy we demanded a change of hotels. We thought that if a place had five stars it was bound to be okay!

MY GOOD LADY: (Ever the lawyer.) Not necessarily. There's no universal agreement to the star system. It's usually awarded for the range of facilities an establishment has in relation to the number of rooms....

DAVE: The other problem was with the flight out. We paid for extra legroom, but our seats were pushed up right by the front partition. There was hardly any leg space at all, just a hole where you put your feet.

ME: Oh dear.... (I think for a minute.) Did you manage to get any fishing done at all? (I know how much Dave loves his big game fishing.)

DAVE: Nope. (He shakes his head.) None of the charter boats even left the harbour. The fish weren't running. Wrong season.

ME: What about the price of food and drink out there?

DAVE: About the same as here, I suppose. Oh, I went into one bar and ordered a litre glass of beer, and it cost me eight pounds....

ME: (Astonished.) Eight pounds for a glass of beer?

DAVE: (Nodding.) I only had the one!

(I frown and scratch my head.)

ME: At least the weather was good. (I point to his tanned hand.)

DAVE: Well, actually, no... It was overcast and cold for the first couple of days...

ME: So let me get this straight. Rotten flight, bad hotel, no fishing, dear beer, poor weather.... I'm amazed you've given it as much as eight out of ten!

DAVE: (Shurgs philosophically, and smiles.) Apart from all that it was great!