Sat.27.05.06. The combination of Colin’s request of a payment of £300, for last weeks fuck up, along with his ‘can’t listen, don’t want to listen’ attitude has oddly had a positive effect upon Chris. He is determined that Colin will not dictate the approach to the work, so given a task to complete he will follow precise orders to the letter or he will receive his P45. The similarity and manner of this situation brings back memories of Gypo Jake, the master mason of Tarascon. Mike, once a simple hard working peasant who grafted tirelessly perhaps honestly completing many difficult, dirty tasks, in my French house, gradually mutated into a worthless, lazy, fraudulent, deceitful, incompetent twat who, later proceeded to rip me off to an obscene extent: as the French say ‘giving it me up the arse’ or, more politely ‘un vol organisie’. This will not be repeated. I have been there, seen the movie, got the tee shirt and have read the script. I do, sincerely hope that this will not happen with Colin, but watch this space.
John Lowton had promised Chris a work bench that at present, he had no use for. The bench was located in a lock up where Lowtie was storing several other pieces of furniture whilst he was having his cellar shored up after suffering several floods due to burst water pipes. We made the short journey to his ‘lock up’ in his battered ‘tranny’ van. However, the previous night a petulant Lowtie had stormed out of the Oak having waited for ten minutes to be served. “I’ve had enough of this, all I want is a flyer and they can’t even be bothered to serve me, bollocks to um” roared John. On our way to Westmead Lowtie returned to the subject of bad service. “I’m not going back there, they treat us like shit. Fuckin’ students, can’t be arsed serving wrinkled old fuckers like us. They stand at the top of the bar just ignoring us while they talk to their fuckin’ student mates. The jobs’ beneath them, they think that they are a fuckin’ cut above. The Doc doesn’t care, fuckin’ swaning around with his fuckin’ waistcoat wrapped around his ‘kench’ with his fuckin’ straw fuckin’ hat on his head. He needs to get a grip, we are the stupid bastards who are spending £100 a week, being looked down on by spotty fuckin’ students. You can’t complain because they treat you much worse afterwards, the fuckers. I’ve fuckin’ had enough I’m going to the Bowlie tonight, fuck um” Lowtie explained, whilst I nodded and agreed. After unloading the bench John posed the same argument to Chris who gladly added another list of faults to the, already, battered barstaff. “£150 a week I spend down there and they make you feel like a drunken old leper, some bum off the street begging for ale, I agree with you Lowtie I’m never going to set foot in the place again.
The day’s work behind us, surprise, surprise we re-grouped in the Oak where Toby was taking a few knocks. “How do you go on in the stones with the trough being so high, do you take a chair in to stand on whilst you’re having a slash?” Lowtie questioned. “No, I think he’s still got those telephone directories that Kenny gave him” Chris replied. “I don’t need to” responded Toby “my knobs so big I just lob it over the side and just drain it, when I’ve got a hard on I’ve had 13 budgies perching on it” boasted Lofty. “Aye, but the thirteenth was only standing on one leg” returned Chris. The tone lowered further when big titty Tracy served Toby with a sausage barmcake, he naturally fawned over her like a cheap suit. “He’s after finding radio Luxembourg on them” mumbled Chris noticing Toby getting ever closer to her ample cleavage. Lofty, playing to the crowd, seized his moment and began whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
“He’s supposed to a family man, married for 32 years, a good catholic, a caring grandfather, a faithful husband. I’ll tell you what he’s like a tramp on a kipper, he’d shag a trapped rat” indicated Chris to the group, who now had become curiously interested in Toby’s antics. Typically, this mature, philosophical banter continued throughout the evening, but with the contented thought that we had wrestled the initiative from the Machiavellian Colin together with having had our faith restored in the Oak. This has been a successful day.
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