A Trip to the Pub

It was 3 o clock in the afternoon. The man, an out-of -towner, decided he wanted a drink. There were two pubs in the village, one was more like a restaurant with gold coloured lettering for its name, and chandeliers, cocktail glasses and toned-muscled men with blonde haired, skinny women wearing sparkly dresses inside hanging from their arms- a party of some sort, or just a normal afternoon. Either side were lines of vacant shops with decaying ‘To Let’ signs and on the horizon were the rotting chimneys of the old mines.

The other establishment was just across the road, simple in its appearance, with perhaps a little grime on the windows- that didn’t matter. Through the dirty, misted windows he could make out lots people inside and so was apprehensive about entering. But he would have felt out of place in the first establishment- and besides he couldn’t have afforded anything on sale there- so he went in.

Inside, there was a semi-circular bar. To the left, a number of women sitting at tables- with gloomy faces, exchanging little conversation. To the right, about forty pot bellied men, all wearing similar coloured t-shirts branded with the logos of failed banks and amoral corporations, all gazing up at the big screen on the wall with their mouths lazily dropped, almost drooling like a dog staring at bone out of its reach, like small boys watching their favourite cartoon.

He took a seat at the bar in this dark tribal cave, and watched the men occasionally interject with their shouts of praise and of anger; tribesmen filling the dusty atmosphere with religious fervour- their eyes more and more fixed, more and more hypnotised by the flickering light from the screen.

He took a seat on the left, at the bar. The beer, it seemed, had all gone, so he just ordered a lemonade- and anyway he was driving. He noticed the beer looked muddy and as transparent as the windows.

One of the women came over and sat at the next stool. She was smiling, but it was forced through skin crumpled like a discarded piece of paper hung over her thin face, and it revealed her mouldy, chipped teeth- the ones that were still there.
“Not seen you ‘round ‘er before love.” Her voice was harsh, but quiet and subdued. She was wearing a sparkly dress, a nice one, but on her it seemed vulgar and cheap. He was wearing a simple jacket and trousers with a light pink open collared shirt.

“No, I’m just passing through on business.” He smiled agreeably. The woman smiled some more.

“A’m just having a drink with the gals, do you want to join us?” She pointed to the other women who were looking at them, but still not smiling. Before he got up he caught the eye of one of the men- who was now the odd one out turning is head away from the screen and looking at him sharply. His eyes were soon attracted back to the flashing lights.

“That’s very kind, thank you,” he went over.

His arrival at the table was surprisingly momentous- he received great interest from each of the women and seemed to cause them to converse not just with him, but with themselves more than they were. He made jokes about life and work, and they laughed, and smiled. They let out great guffaws of laughter and for a moment the room was no longer a cave, it was bright, airy and modern, the tribesmen faded a while and the women were their own people. For a moment their sparkly dresses made them look beautiful, their faces had been ironed smooth

“So do your husbands spend all their time in here now the mines are closed?” he joked, but nobody laughed.

He looked up and saw the man who had looked at him before towering over him, his hand gripping his shoulder. They were back in the cave.

“Mary, what’ya talkin’ to this bloody pansy for?” he said, directing his comments towards one, or maybe all, of the women- he couldn’t tell. Two other men, who looked the same, laughed behind him. One of them said something about his shirt.

“We’re just having a drink, Shaun.”

“Looks a bit cosy. He better not be tryin’ anythin’ funny.” Shaun looked at the man, his eyes dark and revengeful. His grip got firmer, and the other men closed in around him and the smell of beer grew stronger. “You tryin’ anything funny, mate?” Shaun’s arm grew around his neck so he couldn’t breathe, or answer.

Something was said about Jack Charlton and they dragged him onto his feet, and one of the other men held his arms behind his back as if arresting him, and Shaun ran head first into his stomach- just like Zidane! Then he slammed his elbow across his face- just like Thatcher! They mauled him until he had no strength to react and beat and pounded him, laughing and pointing at the lifeless rag doll that lay before them. The women looked on apathetically.

After some time, he woke in a field, somewhere he did not recognise. But he liked it; the sky was blue and the grass a bright, dewy green. The field stretched out in front of him and the air was fresh. Despite his bruises and the blood dripping off him, he felt renewed and free, an escaped prisoner from an unjust jail. He got to his feet and walked onwards, into the sun.