The nearest pub to our home has had a turbulent recent history since the days when Michele used to work there. The last landlady, Sherry, managed to hold onto it for longer than usual and she also managed to make it back into a “local”. So it was a sad occasion to help her celebrate her last Friday night before moving on to the gold-paved streets of Stains. Now I’ve seen a load of glasses get shattered in pub fights over the years but the two that broke on Friday were particularly disturbing. The first was directed at the landlady by a young lad at the bar, after an argument over a Pool-cue. The second was directed by the landlady at the youth. Both impacted on the wall behind their respective targets and caused no bloodshed.
The young lad was the landlady’s brother of course. No-one but family can trigger that sort of aggression. Families have a sort of kung-fu ability to hit your dealdy pressure-points with just one raise of an eyebrow.
After the aggro, while the young lad sat outside, fuming, I spent the remaining time with Sherry and her boyfriend at the bar discussing happier things. I also bought a really rather good Pool-cue for a fiver in an attempt to diffuse a still explosive situation.
Still, at least seeing all of that broken glass all over the deck helped bring forth some happy memories 🙂
The weekend was as perfect as I could have hoped. Quiet, with a curry, a couple of films (Churchill: The Hollywood Years and Deliverance) and a superb Roast Beef Sunday dinner with my family, culminating in watching my mum’s PVR recording of Preston storming off of Buzzcocks, and Harry Hill being stupid.