Filter Tips and Alastair

It was ukmonty's birthday bash a week or two ago. By a miracle of bad timing it was also on the first day of my giving up booze, which got me off to a really bad start in abstinence terms. As he and I sat back in a rather nice little place just off Covent Garden, he mentioned to me that he was also thinking of cutting down the booze for the forseeable.
"Well", I said. "Pull the other one, old man, for it has bells upon it."
He waved his tumbler of Madiera at me for empahasis. "No", he slurred. "Seriously. My man on Harley Street..."
"Harley Street!?" I squarked. "The public sector isn't exactly tight-fisted with you, is it?"
Monty leaned in and tapped his nose in a confidential manner. "Travelcardsh" He said. "That's the shecret. I'm on commishishion."
I accepted this piece of information with weary resignation. "So, what did this quack have to say?"
"Quack? Quack? I'll have you know that my man on Harley Shtreet is one of the besht men in livers. Hish patient lisht is a who's who. George Best. Richard Burton. Oliver Reed. Bon Scott. Dylan Thomas. All the best people go to him."
"All right. What did your doctor have to say?"
"He just suggested that I do something else with my time, other than - hic- indulging myself. Just for a while, you understand."
I knitted my brow. "What will you do with your time?"
"That's the thing, ishn't it? Normally the evenings just fly by. Without a tot or two...I'll be at my witsh end! Shtill. I'm not a 'galss is half empty' person."
I nodded. "You can say that again", I said, indicating the tumbler which had been full moments before.
"Gosh, you're right. Your round, isn't it? Barman!"
"Ah." I said, carefully. "I seem to have...um...left my wallet in...ah...my other jacket."
"Not to worry", Monty cheerfully retorted, pulling a wad of banknotes from his pocket.
"Where on earth did you get those?"
"Ticket maschines, old boy. Every senior manager at London Underground gets a key, you know. Perk of the job. Like your own private cashpoint."
"Well, er, thanks."
"Don't thank me, thank the takshpayer."

So with that in mind, the question hangs - what should Monty do with his evenings now he won't be seeing them with an amber tinge? He needs a hobby and this is where you come in. He's issued a solemn undertaking* to abide by this LJ poll.

[Poll #690060]

^{* This statement is a lie.}