Can I help you sir?

As we approach the end of week 6 of lock-down I thought I would share a couple of updates from life locked inside the pub. Let’s be fair if I had offered a golden ticket to spend your lock-down in the pub it would have been over subscribed, after all where better to be?

So today is my line cleaning day and I have cleaned the single line that I have retained for personal consumption. Sounds great doesn’t it, ice cold draught beer… The flip side of this is a distinct absence of choice. Those who have drunk with me will know that I do change my beverage from time to time and having only one draught line somewhat precludes that.

I start 11 gallons of product like an Olympic sprinter, its the best thing that I have ever tasted, pure nectar. The trouble is that there are 88 pints in there and (as your mum always told you) until that is gone you can’t have anything else. I sit down and think that I fancy a glass of wine and this little voice says ‘have some beer first’ then there is this little debate before I fold and drink some beer, see you never realised how tough it was did you?

The fact that pubs are closed appears to have been accepted by the general public far quicker than I expected. Despite lights ablaze and music blaring I leave the front door open and it is used only by delivery people. We have developed a system, given the no contact rule, for dealing with deliveries whereby they place items just inside the door and I either spot them on CCTV or fall over them.

It is funny how used you get to furniture and shadows and well to being open I guess. Obviously I have moved furniture around and the amount of times I step off the steps with a paint brush in hand to see ‘who that is’ before realising its a table! Apparently it takes me longer to adjust to being closed than the general public. I know the pub is shut, after all that is why I am painting and it looks like a bomb site, yet the other day I got off the step 4 separate times for the same bloody table that caught the corner of my eye.

It is bad enough dealing with the ducks without going to serve the furniture. 4 times, that is not just special that is Gav special! I am not that stupid though, I introduced myself to said table and now I don’t have to get off the step I can just call out to see if Bob wants anything. See, they all think I am daft but I am as daft as a fox me.

 

 

Chest, floor and blue bags

I am sure that there are some readers of this blog who remember when there was such a thing as choice in ones ready salted potato crisps. Remember the little blue packet that came with simple, plain crisps and allowed you to carefully add your personal choice of amount of salt (by which I mean tip the whole packet in) and shake.

Well since I am a little unsure regarding the use of profanities on this platform this post is going to run a little something like those crisps. Let me introduce you to the opposite of a swear box, this is the profanity chest:

Whereas the ‘traditional’ swear box is little more than a means of taxation, requiring a cash deposit for every swear word used, the chest is a much more literal interpretation. The chest is brimming with profanities and you can sprinkle as many, or as few, as you feel the dialogue deserves completely free of charge or guilt. Much like the little blue packet of salt I would suggest that you tip them all in, for reference I am currently running at 2 wpp (words per profanity).

Now that we have got that out of the way let me tell you about the still deteriorating (through no fault of my own) relationship with Henry.

Things started badly on Wednesday when I released the ‘active’ end of Henry mid task which left him somewhat to his own devices. Normally I can trust Henry to snake off and find an immovable object to attach himself to until I have the opportunity to kill the power, apparently this is more trust than he deserves. As per usual the hose snaked away looking for something to eat, I have no idea why an unattended Henry acts like a drunkard hunting kebabs but that is how it is.

The noise, and the fact that his eyes are clearly larger than his stomach, gave him away and I turned to find him attempting to devour Gav duck. Luckily Gav duck’s larger proportions meant he was no easy snack and he was retrieved without harm. Henry spent the night in the porch behind closed doors to reflect upon his actions.

The following day a new floor tool arrived for Henry and after much deliberation I decided this could be an olive branch to bring some peace between us and set about changing it over. This task involves, as many of you will know, slipping the tube out of the old head and into the new one, if only it were that simple.

The initial round left me with the fitting at the end still firmly attached but no cleaning head. Several different methods of beating the plastic off of the end of the tube had no discernible effect and I had to resort to removing the last part with a hacksaw. Quite how the head of a vacuum could become so welded to its partner is beyond me. I cannot recall ever using the tool to bludgeon an Elephant or for any deep excavation, it simply (and easily) rolls around the floor.

At some point after this major Engineering exercise I decided to vacuum the stairs and hallway and things took a turn. I should point out that there is ample length on the cord to reach the length of the upstairs hall when it is plugged in downstairs as, indeed, it was. Having made relatively short work of the stairs I headed along the hall and Henry refused to accompany me, instead choosing to repeatedly head-but a plug socket.

Now this particular plug socket is loose to say the least since it is secured, somewhat tentatively, to old lathe and plaster. Giving the little red fella a couple more yanks I did point out, at some volume, that whilst the loss of the plug socket would be inconvenient for me it would be far worse for the little electric guzzling fella (remember the profanity chest never empties).

On this occasion Henry was saved from a good boot back down the stairs by sheer good fortune when I spotted the lead tangled up on the stairs (doubtless knitted out of spite while in the porch the other night).

On a more serious note does anybody know who thought it was a good idea to put a fixed smile on such an awkward device. Since Henry goes out of his way to be a nuisance a smile must be some sort of sick joke. It is like every time he drags glass over your wooden floor, ties himself in his own cord or hides behind something and ignores you he is bloody grinning. He is like some idiot child who, when you confront him in a rage he just grins like he finds it bloody funny! I have sat him in the corner staring at the wall whilst me and the ducks enjoy a Saturday night beer.

I am going to sign off now with the following dilemma. I have noticed something written on the whiteboard, where all my reminder end up, it is two words circled (that makes it a reminder). The words are ‘cling film’ and ‘nuts’ and the dilemma is to work out if that was a shopping list or an activity?

 

Tricky shadows and guard ducks

One of my neighbours recently commented (from further than the mandated social distance) that it must be so hard for me having nothing to do as I am usually so busy. I said that I was actually busy decorating (which is normally obvious because I look like I have been in an explosion in a paint factory). The response was along the lines of “but after that” and it made me think that perhaps people underestimate the scale of the task.

The walls alone amount to 90 m² of real estate and need (or have had) a minimum of 2 coats. Being an elderly pub there is also a distinct lack of anything true, square or stable. Nearly 6 kg of filler has gone into this exercise and today the dreaded ‘window of doom’ resulted in me having to go old school and deploy newspaper to try and fill the acres of void. You kinda know its a a big job for filler alone when you drop your scraper into the hole and have to fish it out!

When the walls are finished there are ceilings to paint (if paint is available by then). Before anyone reminds me that one should start at the top when decorating let me remind you that paint is currently as rare as open pubs and also ceilings can be slotted in around trading hours. The floor and the deck still need doing as do all the windows, so don’t worry my 12 hour days will continue well into reopening.

I am sure we have all noticed oddities in the current situation but let me share two that I have witnessed recently. The first involves queuing outside of the small store in town. There were 2 people in the queue in front of me and about 4 behind me when one person left and the young girl ushered one person in. As luck would have it the guy at the front was waiting for the person who had just exited so this put me in pole position.

A minute or so later, with nobody else exiting the store, said girl ushered us in “you can all come in now”. I confess to being bemused as to what had happened between me not being able to enter and then everybody being allowed in. I did think that it may not have been pandemic related, perhaps somebody had gone into labour or maybe monsters had to be trapped? Perhaps they were relaying the hopscotch markings on the floor? I made the effort to check the entire store (it is not large) and nothing seemed amiss, damn they are good!

The second oddity is speaking to the guy in the chip shop on the corner who was stood patiently waiting for passing trade (they don’t do deliveries). The apparent innocence when he noted ‘it’s dead out there’ made me wonder if there is some alternate news source that is telling people life is back to normal. The fact that the government are telling people to stay at home at every opportunity appears to have completely missed the poor fella.

As I type this I have left Gav duck in charge of Henry who is complaining that his share of the workload is currently excessive. Apparently he never signed up for working the sort of shifts he is currently on and resents the term ‘key worker’ as he doesn’t want to come out, he just wants to get back in the cupboard.

I have tried the ‘all in this together’ chat and he just pointed to the ducks getting drunk every night. Gav duck is currently enforcing some social distancing for Henry as he is the only one large enough to defeat an attack. Meanwhile Terry and Sausage ducks are still grinning about my earlier discovery.

I had noted that the vinyl wall paint is quite a nuisance and often looks patchy even after the second coat. In part this can be attributed to rushed, rubbish or just lazy painting but it also seems to change by time of day. I have noticed that some areas that looked great in light then spring a light patch in the dark. This morning I noticed a patch of red that looked light and made a mental note to grab the red roller whilst muttering that I am sure I have already hit this patch.

It was a couple of hours later that I got around to touching this area up and low and behold I could not find it. I studied the wall from every angle and it was fine. It would appear that what I am seeing, in paint blinded state, is reflection from a rough surface. Hence I now have the ducks in fits of hilarity that I have been chasing my arse trying to paint over bloody shadows!

 

 

Fairy tales are for the others, let’s get this done

Sometimes the oddest conversations bring with them stunning, and unintended, observations. So amongst the ‘odds and sods’ accumulated in my many years of life are some pictures of my mother who died when I was 28 years of age. I was speaking to my one (of two) remaining sister and said that I would post them to her, that was a number of weeks ago and she brought it up recently so I duly apologised for not having done it (now all posted).

The odd thing, to me, was the emotion that my sister attached to photographs that she hasn’t seen yet. She actually couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to keep them… I pointed out that they are daft prints that will get skipped when I die so better with her now, she just couldn’t see it. Of course there is no reason why these pictures will be better off with my sister than me, there is 2 years between us and neither of our children really remember ‘grandma’ but the emotion in her means that is where they should be.

Now my sister, the kid I grew up with, noted during our discussion that I am the coldest person she has ever known. This, now adult woman, has never seen me leak emotion, I am a machine, emotion is not for me simply not what I do, to her I am ‘bro’ but I am as emotional as a rock. That is a big statement from someone who you have lived your childhood with, we grew up together we are true siblings. Of the two of us I am the only one who attended our other sisters funeral, I am also the only one named in her suicide note but hell I am worth it ( she said ” did it right this time gav”)

So this weird emotional shit gets me thinking… Am I really that odd? I don’t do emotion, it serves no purpose. If I cry now will it change my life? will the facts change?No I am here for my time and whatever presents itself needs to be dealt with.

We have a fixed time on this planet and when its done it is done, only an idiot would think differently. Religion and second chances are the luxury that sentient beings create to placate some weird conscience, any rational person can see its utter bollocks.

So to be sure, if I love you then I love you, I will look out for you and be here for you. You know who you are I do not love easily but I care for my few. Maybe I don’t love you, maybe I can’t love you but if I don’t then its still my intention so that’s ok right?

To be equally sure you should only stand next to me at a funeral if you are brave and fancy a fight. Dead people mean no more to me than pencil sharpeners I will take the piss because … well because I am alive and I can and because its what I do #hasnofilter

Am I free of emotion? Have I evolved out of humanity? nope I am just the guy that has spent a career partially mired in human bits. We are all pink and pointless on the inside its all meat it serves no great purpose we just tread water , we just kill time.

I have no idea what my sibling sees in me, pretty sure its not a lot.

Robotic chameleon love

I should start this post by saying that I have never claimed to be normal and nor would I after all I am not delusional. There are a number of things that have recently made me reflect on life and I thought them worthy of a share.

The first was a recent visit which reminded me just how much the publican has taken over the man. I have written many times about my view on those of us who endure this trade and I remain convinced that my opinion has legs. On further reflection though I think that in my case there is something more to it, it is more than a means of hiding.

My chameleon like personality means that even I don’t know who Gav is, I have no idea what he likes or what he would do with spare time he is , in short, a stranger. What I do know, and I am acutely aware of when I am around old friends, is that publican Gav is his mask. Publican Gav has many of the skills that I don’t think Gav has, a gregarious personality is not something that you would ever associate with the Gav that I know.

Next on the list is a common mistake, I am NOT human. I am not just driven I am a machine but, like a machine, there is no end goal. Many people talk about holidays and when I will take my foot off the gas but the truth is that I can see neither event and it doesn’t concern me. My mission is to continue, to power through, to overcome the hurdles and to just keep on trucking, it always has been. Those who think that I have achieved a life goal by being in the pub misunderstand me or perhaps they are simply trying to humanise me. I love the pub and always aspired to be here but that does not make it some goal that I was working to or some achievement it is simply another fork in the road that I walk. Similarly, now that I am here, there is no plan, no end where I retire or slow down there is just another set of challenges and another ‘to do’ list.

I have good friends who worry about me burning out and I have others who know me well enough to know that it simply is not a possibility, like the terminator I will just keep on coming. I don’t have the pressures of a life behind this, what you see is all that there is so there is nothing to balance and therefore no stress when it doesn’t balance.

Finally, and I guess somewhat inevitably, there is my ‘status’ I am after all single. Again this is an area where friends think that they can help or offer advice and they all have a script in their mind. Let me be clear on this point, well as clear as I can be, if the only time that I hear the ‘love’ word is from my children and some random drunks at closing then I am happy, really truly I am. I have no need for company, companionship, loving, god or the Easter bunny they are all made up.

I guess that I am what I am, I take some getting used to and I am far from everyone’s cup of tea but it never hurt Marmite did it?

 

 

Brewers, plumbers and weed grenades

Well as we enter June the panic is setting in again. I am very concerned that I still can’t take a step in the pub without seeing another job to do. This weekend I worked like a dog but, once again, I can’t really recall what I completed. The safe is now rebuilt and operational and the server case is up on the office wall so I now have somewhere to run the cables that I am putting in.

Bar lighting is fixed now and I took the opportunity to remove the flammable rubbish from around the lights. I now have a plan for pool table and machines and have sent one of the licence fees in for this. Further exploration has added to my understanding of the internal water features, it hasn’t helped just added to my knowledge. About three meter cubed of nature’s toughest ivy and brambles were hauled out of the newly discovered void before I realised that I had no means of disposing of them! Luckily my weed grenade* has cleared the adjacent plot so I have piled it there to dry out, next on the list is a garden incinerator.

Plumber tried to commission the heating system this weekend and it has turned into a significantly more expensive exercise than I had hoped. I guess there is no surprise there really, nothing in a pub is simple or cheap. This week’s commercial calls now include plumber and brewery before I get wound into accounts. One minor success was measuring up and gaining an understanding of what I need in terms of furniture. A good job done and, of course, entertaining for those watching me and Andrew pacing out space in his bar.

I picked up the old deeds from the solicitor this weekend and they are a delight. I have deeds back to 1875 when the pub was leased to a couple, well actually a widow and a chap. I know that the pub was in place before that and need to chase the history further back, one day. It does seem rather sad that my purchase is witnessed by a simple entry on land registry website, no italic script, wax seals or tapes in sight.

See what I mean? Doesn’t sound like much does it? But it has been non-stop and even after all of the physical work there was the weekly pile of paperwork to get through.

I did manage to take a break whilst on the little island and it was nice to enjoy the anonymity that I still have. I can sit and observe as Gav in a way that Gav from the Plough won’t find as easy. 

*nature is no match for my belligerent incompetence when it comes to weed control