Over lunch John asked if I’d ever been to Pressburg. I had to say no I had not and where was it. In Europe he said as if everyone knew that.
He said that is was a place where pressmen and Pressburgers congregated in their thousands. They had special pressboxes set up with every food imaginable and ever drink ever concocted at your disposal when watching a game of a Saturday afternoon.
He had been several times after initially being pressured into going by his mother in law who specialised in pressuring most people to the point where death was often a welcome relief.
John had since given many press conferences on the good and bad aspects of the pressboxes at the Pressburg sporting complex.
One of the drinks he most liked was an orange presse. Freshly squeezed oranges, sugar and ice, to die for he’d say.
Mostly life in Pressburg was not very pressing as people had a laid back attitude to every thing and loved nothing more that attending each others birthdays and handing pressies willy nilly as the act of giving was about the only pressing activity in Pressburg.
He once showed me his presskit, the one handed out to foreign journalists in Pressburg containing a city map, a spare pencil and a guide on how to order a drink in the Pressburg hotel establishments where any pressure placed upon a waiter could and invariably did result in a lot of pressure being applied to your desire to drink or eat as the wait could be excruciatingly long.
Yes he said as we sipped another presse, Pressburg the place with no pressure but a lot of presses to the drunk and no pressure on your taste buds or wallet.