Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Meh! Crappy illustration - what can I say - definitely an off day...
(article by Michael Holden)
Late one Saturday afternoon in a pub deserted save for myself, two pool players and the bar staff, who were watching Catchphrase on the TV, a man walked in looking anxious.
Man "I don't want to put you out, but can you stick the football on?"
The staff simultaneously turned forlorn, as though this would constitute a disaster.
Man (not quite believing what was happening) "What, you're actually watching this?"
Barman (sadly) "What match was it you wanted?"
Barman (holding out his iPhone) "What score did you want? I can get it on my phone."
Man "It's the FA Cup, I want to watch the scores come in, for all the games."
Man (rightly miffed) "I'd like to sit down and pay you the best part of four quid for a pint, while you – who are paid to be here – turn over the television which you, or whoever runs this pub, pays thousands of pounds a year to show live football on. It doesn't seem to me to be a lot to ask."
Barman (sort of standing up) "Well …"
Man (snapping) "Fucking Catchphrase … it hasn't been on for 10 years. Or is this a classic episode? One of the greats. 'Say what you see.' I'll say what I see: you lot in here, taking the piss."
Barman (relenting) "I'll turn it over."
Man (not having it and walking away) "No, you stay where you are. I'll go somewhere where it's not a problem. It's places like this that give drinking a bad name."
I looked around me, and he was right.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Drawn from an overheard conversation in a pub while a group of middle class, middle aged men attempted to 'out-street' one another by recounting dubious tales of neo-football hooliganism from their pasts.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Saturday, 5 December 2009
(Article by Michael Holden)
I could see the man at the next table was having a hard time from the way he held his drinks-for dear life, it seemed. He stared into the middle distance with an air of furious sorrow and swallowed beer in great mouthfuls, around a third of a pint each time. At the end of his second something like relief came to his face and then he was joined by a friend who bought another drink to his table.
Man 1 (upbeat) “How are we.”
Man 2 (morose) “In fucking bits.”
Man 1 “You haven't slept at all?”
He shook his head
Man 1 “I don't know how you get away with it.”
Man 2 “I don't though, do I? That's why I'm in here.”
Man1 “It could be worse.”
Man 2 “How? How feasibly could it be worse?”
Man 1 “Look, if I’d known you were gonna do the whole self pity thing I wouldn’t have come.”
Man 2 “No, I’m sorry. I do appreciate it. Or I will do when I get myself together.”
Man 1 “Well be sure and give me a ring when that happens.”
Man 2 (finishing his pint) “I’m feeling better already.”
Man 1 “Good, well, one step at a time eh?”
Man 2 “Yeah.”
Then he got up and walked to the toilet and was sick so loudly you could hear him through the door and over the jukebox, which was playing Christmas tunes.