Potato and meat pies

Sun.28.09.08. Apparently the party continued in the hotel until 7am consisting of the travelling contingent. As David, Chris, Preacher and Paul approached ‘Sams’ for the Sunday 5 pint sprint they witnessed Dave leaving to join his friends back at the Oak Hotel. The sprint would now be at a split venue, it was irresistible to miss the fragile condition of his global guests. By midday the bar had opened immediately being filled with busty blond, the ape, ‘Sil’ the Costa Rican medicine man, Pernil, Chrissie (an ex) accompanied by two Ghanaian drummers (I’m not really sure from where the second drummer emerged). They were all seemingly unaffected by only having had 3 hours sleep and possibly enough booze to sink a boat. The ‘ape’ was the blonds’ husband but not the gentle giant he at first appeared. He reminded everyone that once he had been refused a drink in a bar in Jersey on the grounds that they had ‘no’ beer. “Well then” he replied “you won’t be needing the pumps”. He then proceeded to smash each beer tower until all twelve had been destroyed. “I suppose I shall now have to move to a pub that has got some beer”.

Dave had hosted a great party; he had lasted the distance without falling out with anyone; he continued this tolerant demeanour until he ordered a round of drinks in the Oak, but when the unfortunate barmaid misunderstood his generosity after he requested she take a drink for herself the red mist descended, he cursed, yelled, bawling at the innocent girl as if she had in fact over charged him or at worst snubbed him instead, simply not having heard what he had said. After a few puffs on Jo’s fag he calmed down, peace prevailed.

Lowtie had a little earlier raised the goalposts when he staged a bold prank by substituting the latest consignment of imported potato and meat pies, sold to Chris, with bundles of torn paper. He then feigned an argument with Chris stating firmly that he would not tolerate any more puerile criticism from Billy Green, the socialist lawyer or his communist mates. He threw the bag of pies on the floor then proceeded to jump all over them. The blue touch paper had been lit but no one really knew how Chris would react. There was a clearing of throats, a nervous rub around the collar, several scratches of the cheek, but not a sign of the expected explosion. As we looked on there was quiet as Chris picked up the mangled bag, he began to tut, simultaneously rolling his eyes, his clocks working overtime in a vain attempt to rescue his stunned embarrassment. The Preacher came to his aid consoling him stating that he felt it was a childish unchristian act; at least Lowtie should not only apologise but also replace the bag of pies. Remaining faithful to the character he bellowed, “I’ll do no such thing!” quickly followed by, “I shall merely give him back his own pies”. Still bemused, even now, Chris could not compute the joke, the wads of paper secretly being switched back for the intact grub. The magician had pulverised the watch but the fool from the audience had not understood how it found its way back on his wrist. 

We left not long after both events as by now the Doc was becoming pertinent and relevant, larger cracks were appearing in Dave’s façade, Billy with Lowtie were celebrating their coup, but more significantly, in a dark corner in the ‘office’ Chris was plotting his revenge.