LOAFMAN AND THE GOLDEN SLOP BUCKET
Madge stood behind the bar and pondered life.
Was it worth the aggravation and hassle for the measly wage she received ? Probably not. However, noticing the Loaf at the bar she swiftly pulled a pint of long life and placed it in front of him.
Acknowledging the freshly poured glass of amber coloured bubbles and gas, Loaf pulled a few pence from his pocket and placed the coins on the bar. His seat at the bar was positioned in a corner between the saloon and public bars, adjacent to a doorless aperture that allowed free movement between the bars without the need to open doors. Beside him were cluster of additional bar stools awaiting the arrival of Loafmans band of beer breathed brethren.
Feeling a slight hunger pang, he looked across the bar towards the jars of pickled eggs and the plastic container containing an assortment of cheese and onion bread rolls. Drips of condensation ran down the inside of the perspex bread bin, adding to the allure of its contents. After consuming a rubberised cheese roll and slippery pickled egg, Loaf composed himself and finished his first pint with two huge gulps. Just as he placed the empty glass on the bar he was greeted by the familiar greeting "all right geezer" as Winyard pulled up a stool next to him.
Following swiftly behind him were Dr Doyle and the effervescent Pat LVO Cannister. Noticing their entrance, Madge recoiled behind the ramp and steadied her nerves for the afternoons rumbustious imbibing session. Pulling a wad of tenner's from his hip pocket, Pat gestured to those at the bar and shouted boojar ! then swiftly instructed Ted, as Madge had turned her back, to poor five double Roughness with no ice.
Dr Doyle grinned as the foul smelling liquid was consumed by Loaf and his acolytes with gay abandon. Slamming the glasses upon the bar and breathing deeply each and every member of the team shouted boojar. As was tradition, the last to finish the creosote tasting liquor was to take a forfeit by buying the next round, and as usual the looser was JC. Momentarily the attention was removed from the diminutive looser as the team turned their necks in unison to see who had just walked through the pubs creaking saloon bar door.
A rakish character with a slim black moustache and wearing a check flat cap glided across the bar and placed his himself upon a bar stool. Removing his shoulder and elbow patched tweed jacket he glanced at the clientele and slightly raising his cap gave a quick sharp wink. The Bounder, as he was known, ordered a single whisky and started to read the racing post, ignoring all others.
Loaf shuffled through his duffle coat pockets and eventually located his rizlas and pouch of tobacco. Deftly rolling a thin but satisfying roll up, he pulled a silver zippo from his trouser pocket and whipped it across his stubbled face, thus igniting the orange flame. Drawing on the thin cigarette was extremely satisfying and a large grin spread quickly across his face. Reaching for his pint he was reminded that his glass was empty and that JC had to fulfill his forfeit and purchase the next round pronto. Jay, he roared, get them in mate, it's like the Sahara in here !
Suddenly there was a load commotion emanating from the public bar, quickly followed by the sound of smashed glasses and ash trays being slung across the room. Unnoticed by the group as they concentrated on the bounders entry, Messrs. Penfold, Gammon and Mullins had entered by the other door and were making themselves at home. Ted picked up the soda syphon and gave each of them a quick blast but soon gave up trying to intervene and returned to his duties at the other end of the bar.
A minor squabble at the darts board quickly abated as Big Ian picked up his stool and advanced towards the Baxter brothers, and all was again quite, except the banter of Loaf and his team of imbibers. Pat glanced at the clock checking on the time, in full knowledge that 2.30pm would mean a change of venue as the pub closed until reopening 5.30pm.
However, all would be ok as the Carlton Lodge drinking den, situated less than 10 minutes away, would welcome them all with gleeful expectation that their tills would be ringing with gay abandon as countless spirits and beers were purchased and consumed. In the interim, Pat had removed his upper clothing and was using a pool cue as a microphone, much to the annoyance of Madge and two old boys cogitating in the niche between the two seated bays opposite the bar at the front of the pub.
Time passed and all imbibed.
Pat collected a handful of coins from the team and started pumping the jukebox with the small change. Within seconds Rod Stewert's Maggie May was blasting out across the bar with Pat extending the pool cue in to the face of the Horse. This was quickly followed by Cool for Cats, When you're in love with a beautiful woman, Eton rifles, Sultans of swing, and In the navy. Old man Benfield slowly sat up from his seat and pulled his wife to her feet. Within seconds they were dancing to the music on the juke box. Although he could hardly move, she was spinning and gyrating at great pace and finished her set with an age defying splits.
Loaf nudged Pat and pointed to the clock. Meanwhile in the Carlton Lodge, fresh pristine ice blue disinfectant blocks were being strategically deposited in the gents, and fresh ice removed from the ice compartments of the two kitchen fridges, so as to fill the plastic ice buckets on the bar. Loaf drew hard on his fag and tilting his head back blew the toxic smoke in to the air. His thoughts were drifting towards The Lodge, and whether the Canadian would be waiting for him in pole position.
Last orders was signaled by Madge as she rang the bell ten minutes before closing time. After a flurry of activity at the bar, multiple shots were consumed by every member of the team, and the last dregs of beer drained from their pint glasses and mugs.
To be continued...
