Ivor the Engine or Noggin the Nog?

SCENE: “The” pub, 6pm, the end of the week.

ENTER: PITHER; suit grubby with fag burns, tea stains, newspaper print and dog excreta; top button undone, tie knot down by left nipple, shirt out at the back; hair akin to that of Mayor of Hiroshima shortly after “the incident”.

COLLECTION OF MUTANT PALS PROPPING UP BAR, HEADS SWIVELLING ROUND: “Whaddo, Piths. How’s it hangin’?”

PITHER: “Crap, but your concern is touching. A pint of Scruttocks Ole Dirigible please……and a bag of Scampi Fries – they’re the nearest I get to oral sex these days.

GENIAL HOST aka CHARLIE CAROLIE: “You been covering that Shannon Matthews thingy?”

PITHER: “Strangely, no. I work on the Cow and Carrot Cruncher, you see. Dewsbury’s not on us. Besides, my talents are limited to “bird found in tree” and “traffic lights change” these days.

UBIQUITOUS POMPOUS TEACHER: “How would you seek to transform the social under-class of which Shannon’s mother and so many other benefit-dependent, amoral, sink-estate chavs are a part?”

FATAL (so called, because his name’s Alan and he’s fat): “Are you going to finish those Scampi Fries?”

PITHER: “That’s a tricky one, Martin. I’ve got to admit, right now I couldn’t give a shit!”

UBIQUITOUS POMPOUS TEACHER: “I believe we will never advance as a society until we abolish the welfare state and introduce a policy of selective, forced sterilisations.”

THE TROUBLES (he’s Irish and can start a fight in a phone box): “Do I hear the distant sound of jackboots?”

PITHER: “It’s a view, certainly. Challenging, but a view. You always were a tad right of centre for a supposed Labour voter, Martin. You have always wanted to bring back hanging.”

UBIQUITOUS POMPOUS TEACHER: “Millions of people up and down the country want to bring back hanging.”

GENIAL HOST: “Not in public!”

LAMB: “What was the real name of Sid Vicious?”

ALL, AS ONE: “What??!!??”

LAMB: “Well, that Johnny Rotten cretin who’s advertising butter now was John Lydon……so who was Sid Vicious?”

FATAL: “Are you going to eat that pack of dry roast?”

PITHER: “I never really got punk. I liked the music but couldn’t get my mind round hoards of kids with purple Mohicans po-going around with bolts through their noses, all shouting ‘I want to be different!’.”

LAMB: “Did you know, there never really was a Seaman Stains in Captain Pugwash?”

THE TROUBLES: “Bollocks!”

LAMB: “S’true!! There wasn’t a Master Bates, either.”

STRANGER: “John Simon Ritchie.”

GENIAL HOST: “Pleased to meet you, John – are you going to drink or just stand there?”

STRANGER: “No, no. John Simon Ritchie – he is Sid Vicious.”

PITHER: “Not any more!”

LAMB: “You’ll never beat The Herbs. ‘I’m a very friendly lion called Parsley……..’”

Mrs LAMB: “He’s been under a lot of stress at work lately.”

PITHER: “I’m going outside for a fag.”

ASSEMBLED CAST: “Me too….and me….and me…..yeah, why not?”

MEIN HOST: “I’ll join you.”

THE TROUBLES: “Errrrr, Charlie, that’ll leave no-one behind the bar.”

MEIN HOST: “The new barmaid has started tonight. She’ll keep an eye on things. She’s thick as a yard of pig shit and got a face to match…..but she’s cheap.”

PITHER: “What’s her name?”

MEIN HOST: “Dunno.”

PITHER: “You never did get that Investors in People Award, did you?”

FATAL: “Whose are those crisps?”

LAMB: “Didn’t you used to love Airfix kits? I remember my mate and me once got all our models together in the back garden and then shot them to pieces with his brother’s air rifle.”

THE TROUBLES: “You do realise people can hear you talking?”

PITHER: “Yeah, Pete. A cracking tale……just don’t mention it when your social worker comes round.”

UBIQUITOUS POMPOUS TEACHER: “Well, I’m off. I’m going to a skittles night with my wife’s choral society.”

MEIN HOST: “Shhhhiiiiiiitttttttttttt!!! Life on the edge, no net!!!! Try not to crash on the way there.”

BLOKE WHO’S ALWAYS IN THE PUB BUT NO-ONE KNOWS HIS NAME: “I’m going back inside. I’m freezing my tits off here.”

PITHER: “Thank you, Michael Fish. Yeah, it is a bit nippy. Another pint of Scruttocks, please.”

FATAL: “Be a mate, get us a bag of Bacon Fries while you’re there.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

And so the evening went. I got home at about 10.30pm, somewhat lubricated but alive. Where else can you get conversations of this calibre? Why have I recorded it? Well, because it's all true and it's typical of the intellectual exchanges which go on there every night.

I love the pub.