Tag Archives: drinking

The Robots Are Coming

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A speech by Mark Carney, Governor of the Bank of England in which he predicts that over time upto 15 million jobs are at risk of automation in the UK. The occupations at risk include that of estate agent, call centre operative and customer service roles.
The Industrial Revolution saw the replacement of the artisan craftsman by the cotton mill but, ultimately the jobs market adjusted to the change and mass unemployment (as invisioned by Carney in the present instance) did not result. However the past is not, of course an infallible guide to the future although we can learn much from history.
One job which does, in my view remain safe is that of barmaid and barman. Particularly in locals (pubs which serve a group of “regulars”, for they are much more than places to which people repair in order to drink. There is, in a good local a tremendous rapre between the bar staff and the “regulars” with friendships and, on occasions relationships being forged across the bar. While in vast supermarket-like pubs (which usually serve an ever changing customer base) I can envisage vending machines playing a much greater role and perhaps replacing bar staff (other than a manager or 2) completely, I cant see this happening in all pubs. Indeed its perfectly possible that having “real” staff behind the bar will be a selling point for those pubs who retain them.
For the article please visit, http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/mark-carney-speech-robots_uk_584675e1e4b07ac724498813.

Saloon Bar

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You wow them in the saloon bar

Surely my friend you will go far.

You link

with those who drink

and refuse to think.

The pub goers applaud.

There can be no discord,

We must be protected from the unwashed horde.

A few wise old owls dissent

It’s a big tent

There must be room for dissent.

But the customers hear what they want to hear.

The regulars cheer

Never fear

Your friends are here.

 

The Last Hurrah

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Thronging the doorway

“Excuse me please”. The throng parts letting me through. Sometimes a kind soul holds open the door allowing me to enter.

In all weathers the die hards stand puffing away. In summer the scent of cigarettes wafts through the pub’s open door bringing with it memories of yester year, a time when walls turned yellow with nicotine and I, a non smoker returned home, my clothes smelling of smoke, cursing the filthy weed.

The rain drives the hardy band ever closer to the pub’s sheltering doorway

“Excuse me, excuse me” I say attempting to retain my fixed smile as I try to enter or leave.

Some said the British would never stand for it, this intrusion into the rights of the individual to light up in public. But what about the liberty of the non smoker not to have his lungs clogged with poison? The latter argument won the day.

and so you stand. Not quite the last hurrah but something noble in your tenacity not to give up despite the pouring rain.

I sit enjoying a pint, thinking of the bedraggled smokers outside.

Drunk

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“Come on big man” the drunk slurred. He attempted to steady himself glaring bailfully at his opponent who looked back, his bloodshot eyes stirring straight into those of the drunkard.

“Come on, think you’re tough. I’ll show you what hard is” the drunk said spittle flying from his lips. The other mimicked the drunkard’s actions further inflaming his addled brain.

“You taking the piss are you, I’ll make you smile on the other side of your ugly mug, you see if I won’t”. The drunkard stepped back and, raising his fist brought it crashing down on the face of his tormenter. The shop window shattered sending shards of glass tinkling down onto the pavement.

“Come back you coward” yelled the drunkard glaring at the spot where his reflection had been.

Gasping

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“How could he do it? Put a pillow over Tony’s face and”. Jean shuddered unable to finish her sentence.

“There was always something not right about that lad. Didn’t I tell you he wasn’t right in the head?” Tina said addressing the small group who sat at a corner table in the Grapes, a bottle of white wine between them.

“Yeah Tina, you always said that” Martha said as she poured herself another glass of wine.

“But why? A kid just doesn’t up and suffocate his dad like that. There must be a reason. Kids aint born evil” Jean said.

“Bloody do gooder, why are you always looking for reasons. Boy is evil, that’s all there is to it” Tina responded banging her fist on the table as she spoke. “I’m sick of people making excuses. No wonder the country’s in the state it is, because people like you say “oh poor lad, we must understand him”. Understand him, the boys a monster. They should throw away the key. They won’t though. A good lawyer, paid for out of my bloody taxes and he’ll be out in 5 (7) years maximum”.

“They never should have got rid of the rope. You remember me saying that don’t you Tina?” Martha said appealing to her friend.

“I do Martha and I always agreed with you on that, as god is my witness I’ve always believed the biggest mistake this country ever made, apart from joining the Common Market, was to get rid of hanging. That little bugger will be living the life of riley while the poor bloody tax payer foots the bill”.

“But the kid’s only 13” Jean said.

“13, that’s old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Society is going to the dogs. Have you seen Wendy’s Lucy? 14-years-old and pushing a pram and it’s the fucking tax payer who picks up the bill again!” Tina said banging her glass on the table.

“He was such a lovely man was Tony. Always laughing and joking and now that little sod has murdered him. Christ I don’t know what the worlds coming to. I’m glad that I haven’t got much longer on this earth” Martha said.

“Come off it Martha you will outlast us all” Tina said. “Hows little Ronnie” (referring to Martha’s grandson).

“Oh he’s great. Do you know what the little rascal did the other day?” The conversation moved on the subject of Tony forgotten.

 

—

 

He felt the pillow pressed against his little face. He gasped for air. Just as he thought “I’m going to die” the weight was removed. It was always the same. For no reason the pillow or a cushion would be pressed against his face and at the moment when the boy felt he couldn’t take any more the torment ceased, until the next time.

He was a patient child. He waited the hate like a fire kindling within him. An afternoon of drinking in the pub. A man taking his last snooze on the sofa. You, dear reader know the rest.

Anyone Fancy A Cup Of …

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I do like a nice cup of coffee with milk and if I’m feeling a little naughty in goes a tea spoon of sugar. A few minutes ago I stood in my kitchen spooning coffee into a mug. I added a drop of milk and poured boiling water onto the coffee. The delicious aroma of coffee asailed my nostrils. Soon I would be able to relax with a steaming hot cup of coffee. I stirred the coffee and felt something move in the mug. It was soggy and, obviously wet … I had added a tea bag to the concoction without the fact having registered. I wonder whether I can market coffee with a hint of P G Tips or should that be tea with a delicious flavouring of coffee!

I am pleased to report that I am now enjoying a mug of (just) coffee as I write this!

Oh for a Quiet Pint

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As a small child I was fascinated by the behaviour of others. This interest has remained with me and perhaps helps to explain at least partially why I write

Yesterday morning I popped into my local Wetherspoon pub for a healthy breakfast consisting of bacon (somewhat burned as it happens), sausages, hash browns, eggs, beans and toast (the diet which I began two weeks ago is going well I am pleased to report)! There I was wondering what I should order once I’d finished my starter when the comparative peace was disturbed by two gentlemen. They took a seat at a table behind me and proceeded to entertain the boring customers who had just popped in for a breakfast or a quiet pint.

The two men where obviously engaged in trying to crack a puzzle as one of them remarked to his companion that they had 15 minutes to find the solution. The same man then proceeded to extol the virtues of Paul Weller’s Peacock Soup. Well I thought he said Peacock Soup but as he began to tunefully regail (tunefully being a matter of opinion) us pub goers it became apparent that the song was in fact called Peacock Suit (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOYrioF-hB8). The trio sang with such gusto that I felt the necessity of eating more quickly in order that I might escape into the open air and enjoy the singing of my feathered friends.

“Fuck”, “Fuck” the ring leader exclaimed on several occasions. The language was so far as I was able to ascertain a result of his inability to solve that troublesome puzzle while Weller’s song failed to provide the clue enabling him to crack the code. Would that I had known the answer, I would have happily confided it in the 2 gentlemen (anything for a bit of peace and quiet)!

What struck me about the whole episode was the complete lack of awareness of the presence and/or the wishes of the trio’s fellow pub goers. I don’t think that their behaviour was deliberately rude (they thanked the bar staff for bringing their food), however there was a complete mental blank so far as the needs of others where concerned.

Of course pubs can be (and frequently are) noisy places but I have rarely, if ever seen two men dominate a public house in that manner before. Had I been tempted to stay on after my breakfast and tea to indulge in something a little stronger the presence of those two songsters would have deterred me from doing so. Oh well perhaps I can incorporate the incident into a future story.

Anyone for Tea?

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One of the great pleasures in life, other than a few pints with close friends, in convivial surroundings, is a nice hot cup of tea. When writing I often sit with a cup of tea close to hand and, from time to time I pause momentarily, remove my fingers from the keyboard and enjoy a sip of that refreshing beverage.   I like my tea with milk and although I have tried to give up sugar, on occasions I succumb to temptation and put sugar in my beverage.

I love tea accept when it goes all over my laptop. Tea and laptops really don’t mix but despite my best of intensions yesterday wasn’t the first time (and it won’t be the last) when I send my favourite hot beverage splish sploshing all over my laptop, desktop and the papers scattered all over my desk. Well the laptop needed a clean anyway and the tea followed by the wipe down with a damp cloth and kitchen towel should have done the trick.

Anyone for a cuppa? I’m just off to make one.

 

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