April 2010
Sun.04.04.10. The usual Sunday afternoon at the Oak has been
boosted by the swell of overserved foreign drinkers who have swayed down the
lane from first, the ‘Bowlie’ then the ‘fast and loose’ tumbling into the Oak
on ‘arsehole’ Easter Sunday. Billy and the Tempermentals were gigging: the
claim that a turd cannot be polished is obviously untrue! They successfully
held both sets together. The wheels nearly came off when they foolishly began
to engage the crowd in conversation; a sure sign of drunken on stage behaviour,
normally punctuated with a decline into a shambolic dysfunctional tuneless
disorder. But they were obviously buoyed by the ‘virgin’ mob who frantically danced
and whooped to ‘Irish rock/blues’ numbers. The Doc also resisted his closing
thank you speech typified by routinely accusing, finger pointing indictments of
‘don’t forget! this music is free! but there are certain people who even
complain about that: there are always takers and givers, knobheads and twats, and
they know who they are............well you also know the rest. In fact when the
band had finished their second encore the bemused crowd appeared shocked,
cheated, prematurely robbed of their final prize, a crumpled bag of winegums.
Even ‘the corner’ was flagging from the excitement of the
afternoon. Doctor Dave
having just returned from a ‘dry’ long haul trip, was worse
for wear, his mouth operating from side to side instead of the usual up and
down; the slurred jibberish falling from the foaming, narrowed slit, totally
incomprehensibly. Nevertheless, his stamina is unquestionable lasting well into
the early hours of Monday morning sparing melodies with Billy Green to equally
robust but small captive audience. Lowtie concluded his most recent shouting
contest reckoning that the Doc fosters a bluebottle sanctuary above the bar;
occasionally a jail break occurs freeing the creatures sporadically tormenting
the drinkers: with practised reflex they immediately cover their beer. Oddly,
this phenomenon predominantly occurs during the Winter months. Knocker, now
working intensively in Belfast ,
has subsequently been starved of female company but relentlessly continues to cast
his net over the ‘fresh meat’ that had been cunningly attracted by the music.
His preposterous bullshit flowed effortlessly reeling in the unsuspecting: the
first being Dawn not such an innocent friend of Tracy, the landlords black eyed
daughter: she lasted the evening supported by alcohol fuelled by class ‘B’
drugs.
As the afternoon progressed, adding to the throng, there appeared odd
clusters of brightly clad ‘trannys’: manifesting themselves as extra tall
women, extra large heads, hands and feet mostly wearing the M and S spring
collection. Perhaps there had been some kind of convention at the Bellingham
Hotel, the delegates breaking free after an early dinner to experience the
delights of the lane. For certain, any potential suitors evaporated as these
particular ladies were probably incapable of even ‘dating’ on a male only cruise
liner.
Captain Salty was reluctantly present along with Danny
Brennan. His dislike of anything more tuneful than Scottish sea shanties is
renowned but he still visits, cowardly sustaining the hope that one day the Doc
will fall on his sword thus closing the pub enabling him to drag his sycophantic
brood to a cleaner sanitised place. I had sold him a case of perfectly ordinary
but quaffable chardonnay direct from my local co-operative ‘cave’ in Genouilly.
Naturally he ‘of the sensitive’ pallet detected a metallic aftertaste so he
felt obliged to rubbish the stuff to anyone who was prepared to listen to his
unsubstantiated accusations.
Subsequently, Danny, who shall obey his master,
has cancelled his order reminding me so much of the 820 BMW saga several years
before: there’s me foolishly thinking he had developed some kind of spine. Why
is it that people blessed with inherited wealth, very little intuitive
intellect or earned experience constantly need the safety net of a
‘recognisable’ label. They are unable to trust their own judgement but
vigorously condemn cheaper products simply because they are ‘cheap’? Mind you,
it is absolutely vital that such ringpieces exist if only as foils for my
frustration as a consequence they also balance the good from the bad and ugly.
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