pubs

Life, mid life pub drinking

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So, sat in the pub observing I think I can now accurately describe the stereotypical mid life drinker.

note, it’s Saturday night so it’s a very specific drunk group I’m watching

The Saturday night regular is somewhere between mid thirties to late forties, it’s hard to tell as a live of dull dreariness has ravaged them anyway.
With a few drinks in them the eyes have sunk in and every movements a stagger. Except the arm, that lift of the pint to the mouth is as steady as it needs to be.
The clothes are predictable, with the guys wearing either a short sleeves casual shirt or some form of football top, normally an england one. The women push just over the line of overdoing it, as it’s the highlight of their week and they can try on their latest primark/tk maxx trash.
You can’t work out which ones are the couples, as the whole group flows around each other a little too drunk and a little too touchy.
The sales songs are on the jukebox, the ‘classics’ at least the ‘karaoke classics’
Banter with the landlords common, at least in so far as he humours them whilst their hands are in their pockets.
And this is their Saturday night, any more would be speculation and that would fit more into my backstories, although I’d bet there are kids at home.

Other observations I made of pub regulars

You can always tell the farmers and girlfriends and the farmers look exactly like farmers, but with clean versions of their daily wear, whilst the girls massively overdo it with sparkly black dresses that look far too out of place in a small village pub

Banter with the landlord is common enough that the younger guys try it
“Pint please”
“Here you go”
“Aw thanks for the drink, jim”
Irish look (I’ll get to the Irish look in a future post) it’s basically a don’t fuck about look.

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Life, locals pubs

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So, I tried out the villages other pub tonight, on recommendation from my partner (who hasn’t been). It took ages to find, because it’s tucked away off the main road in a strip of houses, just short of the country lanes bit.
Now, local pubs are strange, full of locals, and potentially yokels.

Anyway, I go in, and immediately walk into a guy playing a fruit machine. I was looking where I was going, it’s just that the machine is behind the door and to play you run the risk of getting walked into every time someone opens the door. Making my apologies I almost take a dart to the head as people are playing. Darts? Iv not seen a pub with darts in years, probably health and safety.
I make my way to the bar and take in the details, from the rough looking old woman at the bar, to the crappy cling film wrapped cheese rolls behind the bar. I order a pint of doom bar (always seems to make it into local pubs) and try to find a seat. The pub is a weird u shape, with not many seats aside from some stools at the bar, a couple of tables and a long bench around one ‘leg’ of the u. I then take in the pub. Local pubs always have crappy paraphernalia all over the walls, that once upon a time probably held some significance, but nobodies left alive now to remember. The usual stuff is horse brasses, pictures of the pub in the past. This one also had random horse photos and drawing, a set of old scales, with most of the weights missing and in the window a globe.
This is fine, the pubs called the globe, so it makes sense, but the globe itself was a crappy old thing, that had a plug but clearly no sign that it works. It’s the kind you’d pull out of a skip because nobody could possibly want it.

So the pub was weird, I finished up my pint and strolled round to the other one, and sat amongst more familiar and welcoming locals

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Life, things overheard in pubs

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So, my times in the pub are normally just a quick drink or two and absorbing the atmosphere, but that atmosphere also entails hearing the crap some people spout, and when drunk it gets worse. Especially in a small village pub.

Catch a badger in a gin trap (I guess for a lot of the local farmers badgers are an issue, but I have no idea if that’s what they were getting at. If so, it’s interesting to know badgers like gin)

He’s got no idea or he knows perfectly but is just too old to have a fucking clue (this is one of those things that just as your brain gets around you doubt the meaning, I think they were being mean about someone)

Had a drink here, drove home, got pulled over, banned from driving, cost the company a fortune in drivers and taxis, good job I’m self employed and own company so I can tax deduct the lot, no tax for me next year (yeah, I paraphrased, but that’s the gist. It’s upsetting because it’ll cost the taxpayer a fortune, and drink driving kills)

I’m having a crisis, my wife slammed the door of the medicine cupboard and now the mirrors broken (what a crisis, it’s just a little bit laughable)

Do you think if I fucked jade tucker she’d still want to be friends after? (I was going to change the name, but didn’t bother, it’s a little pitiful for all parties really)

Iv lost so many mates when they’ve found women (I empathise with this to a point, of course when you get a woman things do of course change, I think the reality is if this guy got himself a girl the friendships could evolve together, and he wouldn’t feel so alone).

I complained to tesco and got a sorry letter, I then complained about tesco on twitter and suddenly Iv got a £50 voucher. (Not bad, I’ll remember this one. I might need to get a twitter account then)

I can eat 500 calories a day, there’s 150 calories in pint so I can have three them go home and eat a lettuce and I’m fine (ha, just ha ha ha. Awesome stuff)

“Do you want a drink”
“No I’m ok, I’ll probably go home, it’s my leaving do and nobody from works bothered to come.”
“Well it’s a Saturday night and you worked in a club.”
(A fantastic case of poor planning)

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Life, writers block

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So, I like to write. I like to sit with a pad and write. I like to sit with a pad in a place that inspires me and write. I like to sit and write in a place that inspires me and I can write and write.
My writings not very good but it’s the only way I know of completely shutting down my brain and letting go.
Unfortunately Iv hit some major writers block.
The problem being that Iv reached a point where I can’t write anywhere but the local pub. Some would suggest it’s the beer, and that would be a potential reason, but I can drink more beer at home and still nothing comes.
I think it’s the atmosphere, and the fact it’s a change of scenery from what I’m seeing all day every day.
So problem solved right? Go to the pub, get writing and take a break. Awesome.
Except for the real problem, my partner thinks I’m an alcoholic (to be fair she’s probably right) and doesn’t like me going to the pub.
I could easily explain the situation, I doubt she’d get it and would probably think it’s an excuse.
Even if I could make her understand I think she likes me to be here in the evenings so she isn’t lonely, even when we’re doing different things and not talking. Plus she needs me to help with the waking kids.

Another easier option would be to find other similar locations, cafés coffee shops, park benches. But I’d need to find a way of escaping the kids to do it, I can’t switch my brain off when I’m supervising.

Maybe that’s the real problem, when I’m sat at home I’m still supervising so can’t shut down.

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