Out now online and in print.
It was the grand coronation of Fagin the landlord as Nob Eds gathered from far and wide to pay homage to him on the final day of his thirties. The sunniest day of the year so far ensured the beer garden was packed with young and old. Inside the regulars sat in their usual spots as if in fear of the great ball of fire.
Fagin had lashed out an a lavish spread of Michelin starred beef dripping sandwiches and pork pies, which was a more likely explanation of the reluctance of the Nob Eds to risk a suntan. Fat Lad was on guard and in charge of rationing as the King sat happily on his throne, pint in hand, backside planted.
Tropical Tim was as colourful as ever although displaying an unusual reluctance to enhance his glowing tan. There would be plenty of time for him to select one of his numerous thongs and pairs of flip-flops.
Outside mums and dads sat happily having avoided their wallets emptying and several hours on a motorway; as far as theme parks went, the beer garden was a bargain.
Across the road, the beautiful hanging baskets adorning The New Inn were in full bloom as the punters rolled up. It was great to see the two old pubs at the top of the hill alive and well. Here comes the summer!
The old tables outside The Scruffy may have had more coats of varnish than a faded drag queen but it was so good to be sat outside again. Suntan, never one to miss any chance of a few rays, had found a perfect spot as I lathered myself with Aldi’s Factor 50 and wished I had brought my brolly. The first glass of chilled Le Scruffy Pinot evaporated in a flash.
Never one to miss the chance of a cold one in the sun, the dapper Trowel soon arrived with the master of smart but casual, St Bernard. The two old boys took their spots by the bar and surveyed the bustling scene. I could have cut bread with the sharp creases of The Trowel’s Saville Row shirt. St Bernard looked as if he had just moored his luxury yacht at Apperley Bridge Marina.
Eventually, Fagin came out to inspect the scene. The Black Sheep was as good as ever and I savoured every drop given the uncertain future with the brewery in administration. Soon it may be brewed by accountants in a faraway place and ruined forever; I sipped slowly.
The sun was having an effect on the many pets as well. An amorous and ambitious Jack Russell tried gamely to mount the sleeping pampered pooch. I sought the advice of local professional dogger, Young Bet, but she was already too far gone. A bowl of cold water would have to do…for both of them
It was such a grand occasion even Fat Ping Pong the Plasterer had had a wash and turned out in his Sunday best with his attack dog Chester close by. The little fellow was on the prowl and surveying the available talent too.
It was also a proud day for Fat Lad and his devoted, if long-suffering lady, Gertrude. Their youngest daughter, Chloe, well remembered for her time behind the bar at The Scruffy – aka Four Quarters – was down in London at another little party.
Her boyfriend, Will Johnson, was on duty with the Scots Guard as Four Quarters enjoyed the London spectacle. Fat Lad sat proudly, still on guard himself by the pork pies; he was a very happy dad.
Love was definitely in the air as the afternoon rolled on; perhaps the dripping had aphrodisiac qualities? Couples snuggled together, snuck quick kisses and clutched hands. The Scruffy was the theatre of love.
Even Happy Days seemed not too upset that the seat he had cherished for decades was taken by another. With his ever-present tan and the recent Uncle Albert beard now gone he looked ten years younger. Perhaps the secret of long-life was held right there in Nob Ed Korna? Maybe it was the dripping?
Finally, after another long shift young Dizzy was released by Fagin from behind the bar to enjoy a few with her mum and dad.
It had been a brilliant day and a worthy celebration of one man’s selfless devotion to public service, notably the preservation of the rare species that lives in Nob Ed Korna for future generations to enjoy.
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