Boatman's dream 11

The door opened and Tim came in, stamping the sand off his shoes.  “You haven’t started without me, have you, boys?  I just need the Men’s Room, won’t be a jiffy.”

“Does he mean the toilet?” Ronnie snorted.  “Why can’t he say so?  Bloody Men’s Room. ”

Merlin leant over the bar.  “I think I’ve got something Arthur can get his teeth into.” 

“What’s that, then?” 

“Some local business.”

He held up two application forms.   “I’ve already filled these in.”  One was a club membership form, the other to request a mooring.   “I’ve proposed him.  We just need a Seconder.”

“Here,” said Eddie “I’ll do one.”

“Give me t’ uther.”  Ronnie reached and grabbed the other sheet.  “Anyone got a pen?”  “Cheers, Kev.”

“Blimey!” Eddie exclaimed.  “That’s a fancy surname.”

“Quick, sign ‘em and give ‘em back.  Tim’s coming.  I’ll put them up at the General Committee on Wednesday.”

Merlin beamed his smile.  “Tim!  What’ll you have?”

“Just a coke, please, Merlin.  Are those drinks going through the till?”

“Of course!”  Merlin shot back, indignantly. “Coke it is.”

Tim looked around at us all.  “Do we have an agenda?”

“Got it here, Tim.”  Merlin pulled a grubby folded sheet from his pocket.   “Usual order of business.”

“Ok,” Tim nodded.  “Who’s taking the Minutes?”

“Kev’s doing that.  Got your pen, Kev, lad?”

I tapped Ronnie on the shoulder.

“Thought I’d got away with that one.” Ronnie laughed.

Merlin got the meeting under way. 

Minutes of the previous meeting – agreed, Matters arising, Finances, Maintenance, there were two mooring applications for me to sign-off, and a report of a loose mooring line streaming into the channel.  

We wound things up in about twenty minutes.  

Tim never bothered asking who the stranger was sitting at the end of the bar.  He probably didn’t realise he wasn’t on the Committee.

He stayed on a few minutes at the end, to be sociable, then left.   We watched the tail lights of his car disappear down the beach.

“He’s a right barrel of laughs.” quipped Ronnie.

“He saves that job for his father-in-law, Mr Conviviality.”  Taff answered dryly.

“You mean old BS? All that bonhomie’s a front – it’s the way he does business.  He’s a charmer.” 

There was a murmur of agreement.