Further tales from the Oak

It is always difficult to recognise the mood of Chris. After six pints in Sam’s bar returning to the Oak for ‘expensive indifferent’ beer, a poor, indifferent band can create the tightrope of responses; it becomes a guessing game, what to say, comment or make fun of, to ‘stick or twist’ ‘shit or bust’. Is it better to ‘over reach’ for a new toilet roll when the prospect of the last remaining jobby could quite easily swing from your sphincter falling onto the bathroom floor or to remain seated hoping for a clean nip? With your favourite team leading 2 to 1 with fifteen minutes to go should you drop off with the danger of someone coming through the back door or press on for the third goal? Should I mention that the tonneau may be concluded by Tuesday of next week?  there may be a problem with gearbox? will Young Danny be offered the final buffing job? should the delivery of the ‘Minilites’ be delayed? Will I appear the bearer of bad news; descending swiftly from useful faithful assistant to demanding incompetent child. Does he still want to be included or was the clearing of the garage signalling the disguised ‘full stop’ of the project? Cockney Mick had previously questioned his reliability after having requested the use of a ‘tile cutter’ several months ago Chris could not co-ordinate its pickup. “Could you take it to the pub? Could you wait at home where David could collect it later? Could you leave your business early and bring it to me? Could you pass it on to Lewis?” As time passed the demands increased, confusing Mick as to ‘who was doing the favour for who’; “you either want to borrow the facking machine owa you don’t, I don’t give a shit but make yoa fackin’ mind up!” Lowtie didn’t improve his mood having been asked to discover, via the interweb, the proposed value of a piece of land that once was owned entirely by Chris situated adjacently to his much larger patch.

Chris had beforehand sold the ‘lot’ to Salty as a favour who then typically sold it on to a mutual friend for a sizeable profit. To re-purchase would increase the value of his total lot but at this point he prefers to remain anonymous, enter Lowtie as proxy land speculator. “The bid price is £1600”, claimed John. “You must be out of your mind Lowtie, its worth ten times that!”  John repeated only what he had discovered from the auctioneer but Chris was determined that the value was much higher. Jimmy the Axe didn’t help the situation by stating that if Chris didn’t want it at that price he would ‘bid’ with the prospect of unloading the marshy wasteland to acquisitive Tim Hilton. Lewis showed a commercial interest boldly stating that he could leave all his building materials, debris from renovations, along with two psychopathic Rottweiler’s, to guard all the shit. The situation grew worse when Carlos thought the land was ideal as a hippy community or a staging point for travellers or gypsies. The ground bait had been laid, the ‘swim’ fed, if I was to question Chris’s enthusiasm for the Burlington I could face a pent up tirade of verbal maltreatment, the monkey removing the bung from the fat pig’s arse. I could become ‘Chelsea’ football club post Marinho. Once the most harmless, attractively ineffective football team, the first glamorous pop stars of the game: but, not any more, they have morphed into the most hated, lifting the dubious mantel from Manchester United. 

They have meticulously gathered the largest squad of ‘twats’ that have ever entered the Stamford Bridge. Michael Ballack, epitomising any arrogant, right wing German fucker, Didier Drogba a greedy, moody posturing faker, John Terry an English thug prepared to shag anything with a pulse, Frank Lampard mincing around the pitch like a over painted tart, Alex, a Brazilian misfit branded as the ‘beast’ a moronic Neanderthal employed on the field to enforce. But, the weasel that is the most objectionable is Cashley Cole, a serial cheating arsehole. The club now owned by Russian gangster illicit money, Roman Abramovich lacks any personable principles continues to purchase much of the planet without the care or understanding of actually ‘what to do’ with it.

More importantly, should I ask the questions or not? I think not.