Students!!!

‘Doc’ the landlord has had a total re-fit of the bar area adventurously displaying dirty brown timber cladding surrounded by magnolia stripped walls. He appears to have bought ‘non-dry paint’ as all the drip mats have become stuck to tacky surfaces of the bar top as well as the pot shelves. The drying process is now in its second week; still showing no signs of hardening off. Everyone is taking particular care when deciding where to rest ones’ elbows or lounge casually verifying that once leaving a section of the bar isn’t inadvertently transported away. The most encouraging aspect of all of these changes are the new beer fountains  liberally pumping out several foreign strong lagers. Stella at 4% or 6%, Wersteiner at 6.5%, Kaltenbrau at 5.5% and of course Becks at 4%. I am fast developing a taste for Becks knowing that I can justify its consumption because it is merely 4% and not 6% like the infamous Stella. 

We arrived at the Oak still buoyed up by the semi successful day. David and Andy Lewis were attempting to unglue themselves from the bar top whilst Mad John, who had been gardening and drinking for most of the afternoon, had shut down in the corner. Preacher Steven was smiling as per usual even though he was also firmly adhered to the bar. After boring everyone to death about the chassis the conversation quickly changed when Lowtie stormed in. “They’ve fuckin done it again! I’ve walked past all those fuckin students and they’ve fuckin ignored me again: all I want is a fuckin drink but it’s like I ‘m invisible, the lazy bastards!” We wondered whether his mood was attributed to the discovery of the dripping tap, a fall out with Sheila or just a bad day at the office. “What’s wrong, Lowtie?” we enquired. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong: I’ve just walked down the lane and there’s fuckin’ litter on every corner, beer cans, fuckin discarded kebabs, curly fuckin’ pizza, half eaten curry, dopeheads, drunkards, soap dodgers and fuckin’ cars everywhere…What’s the town coming to. There are scruffy, dirty bastards in doorways drinking super strength lager, chavs from out of town coming for their fast food hit, blokes sat outside the “Fast and Loose” with no fuckin’ shirts on!….I’m just sick of all of it, nobody seems to give a fuck!” Before we become inevitably engaged in a debate about 'yob Britain' Lowtie requests a pint from the morose, nose pierced, tattooed, split tongued Matt, the student. 

He explains that he is unable to serve him as it two minutes to 7.00pm after which his shift finishes. We all await the explosion but it doesn’t materialise. Lowtie is calm and thanks Matt for his service wishing him well for his next body mutilation session. Slightly amazed we stand back in puzzled silence. Lowtie eventually gets his pint and gently places it on the bar top. “What did I tell you, they get on my fuckin nerves, I can’t even get served in my own local, they just don’t give a flyin’ fuck!”