“Only dead fish go with the flow.”
Andy Hunt
It was the first Sunday Prayers of the year, to hell with Dry January as we reclaimed favourite spots, the soothing essences of R & R – routine and regularity – flooding back.
“Bloody great this!” said Uncle Andy “No bugger in at all, you could ‘ave a kip and nobody would notice. It reminds me of when I was in the fire brigade…did I tell you….”
In came Patch, his familiar penguin waddle after a day of watching netball, outvoted by the women of the house, forced to watch nubile young women in short skirts for five hours.
Young Bet, sporting a fresh raspberry rinse just about managed a welcoming smile as we considered the offerings from Father Michael’s altar. With most of the nation grimacing at home watching Dancing On Ice before the mass return to work, it was good to be in the land of denial.
Big Al lumbered through the door in soiled shorts and plimsolls, his battered old legs like two ancient rotten tree stumps. Since his carer Luckless Linda had missed out on the Honours List again she had given up the ghost. Dressing like a resident of a Florida mental home would concern most but not Big Al.
It had been a long 2018 for Four Pints starting it accustomed to a quiet hour with The Sunday Times, released by Mission Control, the primary task to return with two dozen free range eggs in one piece. Sucked into prayers, one year on and there are short odds on a renaming ceremony later in the year; Five Pints Spilt Yolks springs to mind.
Soon the regular Sunday crowd began to find their own spots. Tipper the Stripper’s entourage had been prowling the local flesh pots of Thackley all afternoon and were joyful – oh come all ye faithful – as ever.
The dapper, diminutive Stripper was wearing a plunging v-neck vest under a neat Matalan sale jacket snapped up from his earnings at the Working Mens’ over Christmas. His shaved and oiled chest was defying the winter chill with a radioactive UV rating.
Punters found their seats seamlessly as if finely choreographed, it would be a busy night for sure as the jackpot was £150. Wooooo!
The Fishermen took up positions, Charlie declining the usual two-pint “livener” to be on full alert should he be called to answer by Young Bet. Ex-teacher Arthur threatened to spank naughty Geoffrey if he did not concentrate.
The giant figure of Simmy, MD of Humvee Learner Drivers – motto: “We’ll get you to your sick uncle faster!” – burst through the door, a grin wider than the bonnet of his car. He came across to offer new year greetings with bone crushing handshakes and spine rattling back slaps wearing a shirt that would sleep six.
Giant Geordie strode in nonchalantly as crowds parted to enable his way to the bar, a stool simultaneously wiped down and presented. He flashed a winning wink at his love Young Bet who was working the crowd effortlessly with gender friendly raffle tickets in blue or pink.
We hedged our bets but our luck was out. Fortunately the winning ticket was pulled by a regular who struggles to name the correct day usually. As a precaution, sensing the threat of Dry January, landlady Sarah had cautiously slipped in a question that would not have been out of place on University Challenge.
To wild whoops and hollers the pour soul walked away with a commiseration fiver, confiscated by Stripper who placed it down his tanned chest as if on stage. A full house was guaranteed for next week; it had been canny work from the landlady indeed.
It was time to go as we bid farewell to the hardcore, waiting as ever for the local mobility bus to whisk them back to secure confinement until next week.
Welcome back “normal” life we missed you.
Only Words
Thanks to Patch for pointing out this advertisement.
I’m sure it’s all Google’s fault and nothing to do with hard working local agents – especially those donating money to junior cricket – but, describing the distance to Baildon train station as 1.0 mile looks creative. I had an exclusive interview with the local agent.
“Look mate, people want it all these days. Next we’ll be sticking in a chair lift for them across the river as well as a conservatory!” He carefully smoothed down his camel hair coat, slicked back his hair and added “We need to be encouraging people to walk again and as responsible local agents we’re just doing our bit for the fatties.”
In the interests of evenness the ad does point out these are straight line measurements from (sic) centre of postcode.
{In no way has this article been moderated with a generous bung to BVCC junior cricket.}
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