Happy Birthday Skank……….

Yup - incredibly my brother hits the big 40 today. Happy Fucking Birthday! Don’t worry it’s a normal birthday greeting for both of us, nothing malicious in it at all. We did not hold the big annual Jack Barbie bash this year mainly because the original date in July was one of the worst weather days this year and everyone would have ended up soaking wet and miserable. Sorry, make that pissed, soaking wet and at least temporarily happy. So our plan was to move it to September 11th when the weather was maybe a bit more placid. Then after returning from Florida and realising the full horror of the finances we decided to cut our cloth accordingly until The Company’s share option comes through later this year and refreshes the parts of the bank account that my holiday managed to decimate. We knew it would be expensive but it appears to have had the equivalent damaging force of a financial Hurricane Charley, tearing its way through the timber framed structure of my savings account and tearing off the corrugated plastic roof that seemed so secure for my accumulated wedge just 3 months ago. Anyway, September was nice for the first couple of weeks, but as Saturday approached we knew the good weather was about to suffer a massive sulk and curl its toes up, shuffling away from its brief sojourn to the jolly old South Coast of Dear Old Blighty. And as it left it decided to leave a pile of gob on us, luckily just a few dribbles on Saturday before the full crap of yesterday. We decided to go with family only for the Barbie and to keep it as a celebration (in part) of Skanks 40th birthday. The weather did its best for us but there were some short sharp showers. However the copious amount of alcohol flowing freely stemmed any negative thoughts on the day, and everyone had a top time.

At one point we had a full rendition of the adults singing along to Roger Waters version of the Pink Floyd Magnificent Octopus that is “Comfortably Numb”. Twice. In fact a good proportion of the music was supplied by the good Mr. Waters and Messrs Page and Plant from my recently acquired live DVD’s, pumped out through the mega TV Dolby window shaking, bass thumping system I bought last year. It was as good as the other week when he came down, but improved by the presence of BigSykes and SmallSykes, along with MiddleSis and LittleSis, plus Grand Master and Raptor (who barely deserves this nickname now so I will seek an alternative). Mind you I was fucking ill yesterday with a hangover not seen round these parts since I celebrated my 40th! It’s not the capacity that’s the problem. I’m pretty sure that we, as older blokes, can drink as much and probably more than a 20-something, with the bonus of not getting slappy with it. No, it’s the recovery period that so badly lets us down. What used to take a few hours to recover from now takes anywhere between 12 and 36 hours before I can consider myself part of the human race again. Even a round of golf was not enough to blow the hangover away and that is very unusual. But it’ll happen again no doubt and the truth is that we never learn, do we?

Pub News…….

My “local” pub (i.e the one in the village) closed last year to be rebuilt. However such was the shithole it had become I rarely drank in there. The governor was an ignorant fat slob, his wife thought she was Bet Lynch, except she was ugly and lazy. The pub was built in 1960, after the original stone cottage pub was knocked down. The new pub was famed for being built in a day. Built in Lady Margaret Road in Southall (one of my former haunts), delivered at 06:00 in the morning on the back of lorry, serving drink by 18:00. It was a pre-fab and the fact it lasted until 2003 is nothing short of a miracle in itself. So, they knocked the old one down and built a new one made out of flint and brick, two storeys, new garden and completely in tune with the architecture and character of the village. It opened on Friday and the crowd in my current pub had the wisdom not to go that night, although I had a sneaky pint (which means two!) on my way home from work. It looks good and is a massive improvement on the old one, but one thing stood out – 2 bar staff? On the opening night? Sure enough down my pub that night we had an overflow of people who had waited up to an hour in some cases to get served. The new governor of the new pub did not even show his face! Even on Saturday when I took GMD and Baby there at lunchtime for a swiftie before the Barbie started we waited 10 minutes, and eventually with no sign of being served and with the new Landlady blanking us, one obviously inexperienced girl trying to take food orders and serve drinks we upped and went to our normal pub for a beer. We were served there as we walked through the door. So, here’s my advice to new pub landlord. Get it fucking sorted or you’ll be empty within a week. You should be very visible now, whilst you try to win back people like me and my mates. You should have too many staff on and then cut back according to your new trade levels. Get the basics right and you have a chance. Otherwise you’ll end up with passing trade and 20-somethings and teenagers spending a few quid before going clubbing. And before you know it the place will be a shithole like before. Hardcore spenders like me and my family and friends will stay where we are, safe in the knowledge that a pub where the governor knows my name, where my Guinness is on the go as I walk to the bar. That’s what running a pub is about, knowing the locals and the regulars. Treat them right and the others will notice this and also come back. Until then, The Governor at my local knows his trade is safe.

More later, GrocerJack