The Lemon Fool

... the pub crawl

Every Friday night.

Talk was about the cricket, the weather and the really tyrannical boss we all had to suffer

No subject was out of bounds ... we would talk about the blonde with the tight fitting blouse, the red head with the incredible pair of blue eyes and about anything that wore a skirt, except Scotsmen.

We had two things on our mind. Get drunk. Get laid. And the latter was a complete illusion. We didn't care who won the next election. We couldn't afford to buy a new home - so we lied about our income and got a second job. We didn't admonish anyone who missed a penalty because we had some first hand knowledge about playing football.

We didn't hesitate to take the smeg out of each other. Nothing serious ... just tongue in cheek smeg. And we stuck together as friends do.

You could say that the snug is as close as "one" could get to that above. You could say we don't need to debate politics or define party politics. You may want to suggest that we simply came out for a beer. To be with our mates and to close the week with a few beers and a bloody good chat about bu99er all.

We never met the woman of our dreams in the pub. I wonder why But we never gave in.

Times may have moved on

Perhaps I haven't

AiY

Living in the country driving to local pub was by rota, driver had 'drinks' bought for him.
An age thing?
Odd, last pub visit the young things all had heads buried in mobile phones.

AsleepInYorkshire wrote:
We never met the woman of our dreams in the pub.

I met mine in a pub and still with her.

What I remember was Sunday nights, when the Welsh hordes came over the border by the coach load, because the pubs in Wales & Monmouthshire were closed on Sundays. On the other hand, they stayed open half an hour later than our pubs, so a 10 minute drive down to Monmouth got you a bit more drinking time on Fridays or Saturday nights. One might even visit a dance, although in our nearest you had to buy your ticket before 9pm and then get a check-out. You also needed to get a ticket for the Dance Bus home, if you were not motorised. Most of us had one of each colour spare, just in case. Cost was about one shilling, as I recall. You paid on the bus.

Saturday more often we would go to Gloucester and watch the rugby match, then adjourn to a pub or two until the last bus home. 75 minutes standing on the rear platform if you were slightly delicate.

And the joys of leaning over the kitchen sink, saying "Never again", repeatedly.

TJH

dealtn wrote:

AsleepInYorkshire wrote:
We never met the woman of our dreams in the pub.

I met mine in a pub and still with her.

So did I and so are we

34 years ago

AiY

AsleepInYorkshire wrote:

dealtn wrote:

AsleepInYorkshire wrote:
We never met the woman of our dreams in the pub.

I met mine in a pub and still with her.

So did I and so are we

34 years ago

AiY

I can’t see how that could happen without someone actually making eye contact with, and initiating a conversation with a stranger.

I deduce that it was probably somewhere outside of the south east of England.

madhatter wrote:

AsleepInYorkshire wrote:

dealtn wrote:
I met mine in a pub and still with her.

So did I and so are we

34 years ago

AiY

I can’t see how that could happen without someone actually making eye contact with, and initiating a conversation with a stranger.

I deduce that it was probably somewhere outside of the south east of England.

Not in our case.

Another tick for meeting OH in pub. He'd moved into the village and we were in a quiz league and desparate for team members who had a grasp of general knowledge, history, goegraphy - in fact anything that didn't involve sheep. Our star player had left the area as he'd had promotion and the substitutes whilst knowing a great deal about sheep, their ailments and the prices they'd fetch at market plus an in depth knowledge of Wrexham football team didn't make up for his loss. I put a note, in desparation I admit, though OHs letter box, discovered that not only did he have some grey matter between the ears but was also a very likeable chap. The rest as they say is history, 35 years worth to be exact.

R6

Ah... nostalgia isn't what it used to be. The once-pleasant memories now are tinged with poignancy, especially at Xmas, in fine Spring days at daybreak, in late afternoon mists in November, the songs (Wimoweh, the Banana Boat Song, ....); the litany of longing gets more oppressive as years pass.
And the Sunday nights in Welsh pubs that were just over the border in England: some men (and it was mostly men) came from chapel direct to the pub.
Seven years at a bilingual (Welsh/English) grammar school gave me the ammunition to sit at the pub piano after around 9.30pm - the time when happy English songs gave way to sadder and more reflective Welsh ones and thence to Welsh hymns - and be force-fed free beer all evening as a quid pro quo.
As certain members of the local constabulary were usually present and lubricated, the pub shut its door when the last person went home.
There was great respect and complete quiet for soloists - something I have never seen in an English pub.

Alas. All gone.
Eheu fugaces.
Hiraeth mawr a hiraeth creulon (R6 will know the provenance of this phrase)

When I used to go to the pub... and my tipple was brown ale shandy.
Or failing that, Guinness shandy..... which I once ordered at a pub in rural Eire, if the barman had had any hair his eyebrows would have disappeared.

Often, the barman... person... put the beer in first, and then it was ten minutes of overflowing fizz while they tried to add the lemonade.

V8

88V8 wrote:When I used to go to the pub... and my tipple was brown ale shandy.
Or failing that, Guinness shandy..... which I once ordered at a pub in rural Eire, if the barman had had any hair his eyebrows would have disappeared.

Often, the barman... person... put the beer in first, and then it was ten minutes of overflowing fizz while they tried to add the lemonade.

V8

Had a lager shandy on Friday (long cold drink after six mile walk in the heat, with half an hour to fill). Great drink for hot weather.

The pub's outdoor tables were very busy, all spots with any hint of shade were taken. So I sat indoors where it was quiet, and realised it was my first time inside a pub since BC!

stewamax wrote:There was great respect and complete quiet for soloists - something I have never seen in an English pub.

It's only fair they're given the space

I was once at the Sunday session at the Uisge Beatha in Glasgow when my hayfever started playing up while there ​was a lass with one of those "little baby Jesus" voices giving a acapella rendition of "An Ataireachd Ard"

I removed myself from the (unfeasibly long) Chesterfield sofa and went to the toilet to clear my nose
- said toilet was down a short narrow corridor and was itself little more than a 8' square tiled room

Having cleared the old nasal passages and feeling proud of the fact I hadn't interrupted the singer I made my way back
- only to find a couple of dozen woolly-jumpered folkies giving me death stares

I'd neglected to consider the acoustic properties of a Helmholtz resonator

- sd