Ice and a Slice
Weeks later…
Like I said at the top of the blog, it’s random!
A lot seems to have gone on but too much to recall. I took a trip to Gloucester with Jamie to visit Ferret and Teen. That turned into a boozy weekend but never the less very enjoyable. I had a near altercation with a primate in the Brunswick; missing the ceiling fan that I was aiming my paper aeroplane at, it nose dived towards the bar and came to rest about three feet from the primate’s lady-boy girlfriend. Apparently this is justifiable reason for full on aggression in Gloucester, well at least the primate thought so. He twitched round on his bar stool, growling and grimacing in his most menacing way. It looked like he had practice this in a mirror, like Robert Dinero's character in Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, but with out the style and ability to back it up. Looking in the mirror is probably where the similarity began and ended. “You talkin’ to me?”
It was too hot to be bothered too much by this Muppet on speed so I just picked up my paper plane and went back to my beer. Fortunately Jamie is a big lad and the rest of my drinking companions numbered several. The primate, when his slow assessment of the situation finally settled in his sloping dome, muttered what may have been “sorry” but it was as incoherent as everything else he had all ready said. I didn’t care, he had already taken on the insignificance of a fly buzzing around; if it stays away it doesn’t bother you, if it gets too close you swat it.
I did quite a few shifts at the Bells and the Half Moon. Silly Billy smashed up the Bells during one of my shifts. He had been drinking all day but I didn’t realise this until he had downed another two pints and started referring to himself in the third person. Always a bad sign, I find. I told him I wouldn’t serve him anymore beer until he had drank some water and eaten some food. I poured him a pint of water and dropped a slice of lemon in it, more out of force of habit than an attempt at sarcastic sophistication. It was the slice of lemon that seemed to do it. His looked changed. “Don’t go all bi-polar on me Billy” I requested hoping it may distract his thoughts, but it was too late. He grabbed the pint of water, emptying its contents over the bar room in the same swipe. Raising it above his head, for a moment his little red eyes met mine. I ducked as the pint jug flew through the air towards my head. It missed me but took out a couple of spirit bottles that were waiting to go on the optics. I stood up again quickly but Silly Billy had gone into full Terminator role, upending drink laden tables as he did his silent victory walk around the bar. “I’ll be back!” he didn’t say it but I could see he was thinking it. ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ I thought as I swept up the broken glass and mopped up the puddles of beer. None of the customers left though, I think they quite enjoyed it really. It was a sort of Mad Max meets Middle England showdown. Silly Billy is now permanently barred.
I had invited Special to the Bells the night of Billy’s rampage. Fortunately she missed his performance but was soon surrounded by the post-match review. I just wanted to leave at that point. ‘What am I doing here?’ I thought. I did leave at 11:30 and we went back to the boat, listened to some sweet, sculptural music and drank some Tempranillo, floating into the night together.
Like I said at the top of the blog, it’s random!
A lot seems to have gone on but too much to recall. I took a trip to Gloucester with Jamie to visit Ferret and Teen. That turned into a boozy weekend but never the less very enjoyable. I had a near altercation with a primate in the Brunswick; missing the ceiling fan that I was aiming my paper aeroplane at, it nose dived towards the bar and came to rest about three feet from the primate’s lady-boy girlfriend. Apparently this is justifiable reason for full on aggression in Gloucester, well at least the primate thought so. He twitched round on his bar stool, growling and grimacing in his most menacing way. It looked like he had practice this in a mirror, like Robert Dinero's character in Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, but with out the style and ability to back it up. Looking in the mirror is probably where the similarity began and ended. “You talkin’ to me?”
It was too hot to be bothered too much by this Muppet on speed so I just picked up my paper plane and went back to my beer. Fortunately Jamie is a big lad and the rest of my drinking companions numbered several. The primate, when his slow assessment of the situation finally settled in his sloping dome, muttered what may have been “sorry” but it was as incoherent as everything else he had all ready said. I didn’t care, he had already taken on the insignificance of a fly buzzing around; if it stays away it doesn’t bother you, if it gets too close you swat it.
I did quite a few shifts at the Bells and the Half Moon. Silly Billy smashed up the Bells during one of my shifts. He had been drinking all day but I didn’t realise this until he had downed another two pints and started referring to himself in the third person. Always a bad sign, I find. I told him I wouldn’t serve him anymore beer until he had drank some water and eaten some food. I poured him a pint of water and dropped a slice of lemon in it, more out of force of habit than an attempt at sarcastic sophistication. It was the slice of lemon that seemed to do it. His looked changed. “Don’t go all bi-polar on me Billy” I requested hoping it may distract his thoughts, but it was too late. He grabbed the pint of water, emptying its contents over the bar room in the same swipe. Raising it above his head, for a moment his little red eyes met mine. I ducked as the pint jug flew through the air towards my head. It missed me but took out a couple of spirit bottles that were waiting to go on the optics. I stood up again quickly but Silly Billy had gone into full Terminator role, upending drink laden tables as he did his silent victory walk around the bar. “I’ll be back!” he didn’t say it but I could see he was thinking it. ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’ I thought as I swept up the broken glass and mopped up the puddles of beer. None of the customers left though, I think they quite enjoyed it really. It was a sort of Mad Max meets Middle England showdown. Silly Billy is now permanently barred.
I had invited Special to the Bells the night of Billy’s rampage. Fortunately she missed his performance but was soon surrounded by the post-match review. I just wanted to leave at that point. ‘What am I doing here?’ I thought. I did leave at 11:30 and we went back to the boat, listened to some sweet, sculptural music and drank some Tempranillo, floating into the night together.
posted by Outcast Poet | 1:07 pm
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i liked ur blog
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