25/06/2016 by Alan Crawford
A Pub Night
Well fuck me. I’ve done the work required, cleaned surfaces thought beyond cleaning, thought thoughts I shouldn’t have, but overall conducted myself in a modest respectful manner. I’ve watched the political situation in Europe change. My simplistic view – it seems that there are more scared folks trying to remember and relive the past than those with sensible open arms seeking to engage with the future. Extreme right wing politics is getting stronger, more mainstream and less extreme as a result. Frightening days ahead, i’ll recall the pub night.
Any-who, I’m wondering how I now discover that after all the life changing efforts I’ve applied that my blood pressure is classified very high. I’m exercising, trying to eat better (I thought), given up smoking. I am and have been battling bronchitis, sore sinus, blocked nose, aching neck, severe headaches (daily) and general malaise. This changing direction seems detrimental to my health, not improving it.
So to celebrate this positive step backwards in my wellbeing, I’ll relate a recent experience of arriving completely on a whim to a local pub I was walking by. Its location and name shall remain unknown and nameless, but it was a spur of the moment, “I’ll pop in here and have beer kind of a visit”. Very rare for me to be doing nowadays but there you go and in I went. The looks and sharpest barbs aimed at me as I walked in should have given me warning of the style of the establishment and the patrons. They seemed very interested in my arrival, my outfit, maybe my glasses and as I found out later they were extremely keen to share their current goings on with me.
One fellow was so excited to share he kept popping over to announce his thoughts on a range of subjects, Brexit was not one of them, nor was the upcoming Federal Election. He was as happy as. He was as pissed as a fat fucker in the sun, but happy.
The night I decided to brighten the halls of this licensed establishment was Karaoke Night. Two what may have been lovely old poofs were running the show and later on accommodated a younger fellow who looked like a blond Adam Sandler from the film Little Nicky. The two older guys acted in a controlling, conducted, critique of the performers with one actually sitting on the stage beside them as they strangled the selected tunes.
It was like “One flew over the cuckoo’s nest” in this pub, every scene was memorable.
Scene one begins with a Vietnam Vet sharing with me that “WE” would be the only people who knew the meaning to the Khe Sanh lyrics, my claim to be much younger would be wasted at this stage. This man proceeded to fight with a demur Filipino lady who was siting beside him and in front of me. Turns out she was his new bride and they were fighting over the ex girlfriend who was barely sitting on the other side of him.
I was simply a spectator in this matrimonial turmoil and it was very entertaining, nearly as entertaining as the cat strangling pouring out from the scary green wash of light on stage. The wife left and the Vet spent a good time looking for a re-run of the good times from the troublesome ex ? girlfriend. She seemed very capable of providing some.
Scene two continues in a similar theme as another lady I also thought to be a Filipino was dancing mad. She danced and danced and avoided a very unusual and very strange man as fast as she could. Every time he caught her, he’d grasp and near strangle her so she wouldn’t get away again. Well dear reader, another man arrived and she seemed very keen to dance with him and get away from strange boy. Strange in actions and looks, he could have killed me if he’d aimed his displeasure at me. The new man could actually sing and dance and seemed to dedicate his performance to the dancing queen. That went down well.
The strange boy and the queen moved over to “dance” right beside me and it was truly spectacular, the strange boy trying to comb down his non existent hair over his bald head while staggering about like a one legged blind man on wet slippery slide. You might think that could look good, but trust me it didn’t.
Scene three turns to a group of jolly minor criminal types who wander in thinking they own the town, the pub and everyone in it. They look like a casting call for “Underbelly” with an older obese cane assisted type, a bald East End gangster type and a punch drunk boxer type who was both all boxed out and as drunk as fuck. These characters get drinks, laugh like they’d written Benny Hill and Monty Python sketches for a living. Their laughter is so over played and simply an attention seeking exercise.
East End guy puts his beer down on the bar unattended and then proceeds to carry on like a chop to the bar man to get a replacement because he wandered off and left it. They seemed to stare at me a lot, which was very odd. A young woman sitting near me seemed to be the target of baldy’s attention. He apparently came over and spoke to her while I was going wee and later on provided her with some weird finger wiggling and waving. I have no idea what that was for and as much as I could tell neither did the young lady.
Well there was more, much more but I’m anxious to get on and get well. I’ve decided that should I be near this pub again, I’ll go in, I might even sing. I’ll leave you with a couple of tunes – because I can and because I think they’re great.