Shhh its a secret, great parking and working weeks

Wow where did the time go? I am now on day three of week three in the Plough and genuinely don’t have a clue as to where the time went having said that I have no clue what day it is most of the time so I guess it is not such a big surprise. The pub continues to move from strength to strength with the obligatory curved balls such as internal walls randomly filling with water. I couldn’t be more pleased with the performance of the old girl and the support that I am getting from the community, she really is a lovely (and well-loved) old lady.

I have always said that the Plough, like the Ship before her, wants to succeed and its only bad operators and contracts that hold them back. When I left the Ship I had a number of moments when I thought that the success was so influenced by the lovely people who it would be impossible to replicate, I am pleased to report that this is not the case the Plough has attracted its own crowd and they all hold the pub dear.

I remain the only member of staff on the ‘team’ which allows me to spend time with the people who use the pub which is good. My regulars are now starting to challenge some aspects of my life as they realise that there is no time to eat and little time to sleep but when asked if I am bored of doing it all myself yet the answer remains an emphatic “No”. I am frustrated at the slow progress in other areas which results from always being behind the bar but I am still happy to be here. Righty is still arguing about the new regime and is currently deploying vicious lock ups at highly inappropriate times but, as most of you know, I am quite adept at hiding these experiences so all good so far.

The pub is continuing to retain customers, both locals and tourists, both for multiple drinks and over multiple days which is reassuring. One of last weeks tourists, on his last visit, actually sought out the locals at the bar and told them to look after and support “the best landlord I have met” because he and his family had felt so welcome which is pretty impressive feedback. I had probably the worst attempt at trade espionage the other day when somebody came in to scout the pub on behalf of friends in another venue. After trying several of the beers he questioned hours and made some suggestions that bordered on sabotage before the ale got the better of him and he explained why he was here. The dawning realisation that he had just blown his own cover was great to watch as it washed over his face.

For those that have access to any social media and are therefore concerned for my welfare after 3 van loads of police and an ambulance parked outside the pub on Thursday I can tell you to rest easy. The police were attending an incident that was nothing to do with the pub, it was in fact a domestic altercation some way down the street. Much shepherding and careful stewardship ensured that there was no opportunity for interaction between uniforms and young men with full beer glasses, such meetings rarely go well, so I guess it was a small success. Fair play to a number of people for defending the pub against the obvious gossip, we know the Plough is a great pub and always a great atmosphere, just got to keep spreading the word.

The question that I get asked a lot is why I did this and it’s a difficult one to answer. The other day I was on a call with the old job and realised that while they were all in offices, earning wages and being pretty normal I was walking around polishing tables in a sleepy daze. Later that night, well actually early the next morning, I walked through the bar, sticky with beer, locked up and tidied the cellar and the pride I felt for the old girl trading well was all the answer that I needed.

I will leave you with a theory from one of my customers, a roofer who you will doubtless meet if you ever visit, I think it sums up island life quite well. This self-employed guy never works Monday but solves this by paying himself double time on Tuesday, he tends to have Thursdays off as they are the landing strip for the weekend and hell nobody likes working Friday do they? That ladies and gentlemen is why we smile more on the little island, there is no burning ambition to be a millionaire just earn a penny more than you can spend.

Maidens, mini planes and Brighton

I have written about this subject before but it really seems to be leaping out at me again over the last couple of weeks. I don’t know if this is a reflection on my observational skills, chance or the fact that it is becoming even more common but there we go. We continually hear from women how they are waiting for their prince charming, how men don’t appreciate them or nurture them and generally how rubbish the hunt for a decent partner is and I appreciate that this is all true, to some degree. On the flip side I see a continuing decline in the femininity of the opposite sex, is it only me that can see the connection?

Prince charming was a fairytale character who protected the damsel in distress, this was the guy that rode in to sweep sad maidens off their feet. Do you honestly believe that prince charming could exist today and if he did then sweeping ladies off their feet is no longer socially acceptable, if you can find a lady. Read the fairytale and you will not find mention of prince charming sweeping the fair maiden up onto his white stead before lifting children of varying lineage into a waiting carriage. The charming yet downtrodden Cinderella did not have to leave the ball in order to get home before the babysitter demanded overtime. Try and picture prince charming sitting with the other princes in a singed cloak and declaring “and I slayed that dragon to capture the princess but my quest against the CSA and JobSeekers continues” doesn’t quite work does it?

If our prince was to ride his glorious white stead out to rescue most of those who dream of him he would have to be early. If he were too late then he would meet Smirnofferella who would most likely try to knock his horse out before vomiting on her shoes. If he tried to aim younger, within the strict legal code of course, he would have an even harder time. What clue would our prince use to determine the maiden? the traditional visual indicators have gone and he would be as likely to end up with a shell suit clad lad on the back of his horse as a girl. I have no idea when young women started looking in the mirror at the fragile beauty with which they were born and thinking “soon sort that out Gangsta stylee”. The world seems to be a sea of back to front baseball caps, funny hand signals and offensive language. We had sign language when I was younger, 3 or 4 offensive gestures and a whole language if you were deaf but if you could watch today’s youth on mute you would think that they were landing a squadron of miniature planes.

But back to our harried and dusty prince, who by now has been sworn at, punched and vomited on and is desperately trying to work out what language Smirnofferella is speaking. Is there a fairytale that explains how he subdues the wobbling maiden, straps her to his horse and returns her to his castle before fending off her clumsy drunken advantages and setting her to bed? No worries here of the old pea under the mattress trick, she would sleep through a war, but our prince would be wise to rotate her not only to save her choking on her vomit but because kebab breath beats dragon’s any day. And so as morning broke and as the sun’s golden rays illuminated the land Smirnofferella stirred in the princes strong arms, she lifted her head and gently pealed the pillow from her face, wiping half a pound of L’Oreal from her flaxen skin and coughing like a coal miner she growled “Jesus that’s bright and who the f*ck are you?”

So allow me to explain why you don’t find your prince ladies, it is not because there are no princes, there is no shortage. But whilst uncontrolled feminism has turned you into Smirnofferella your prince has been down the gym keeping fit for you, while he was there he met his prince and they had a lovely ceremony on Brighton beach!

 

 

Thoughts from here

It’s a viciously cold Sunday morning here in the UK, we have had repeated flurries of snow that have failed to settle and take hold because of the easterly wind. There are a lot of wonderful things about living on the coast and especially this close to the sea, the easterly wind that blows unobstructed onto our shores is not one of them but from indoors it forms a fantastic vista as it whips the sea into such a frenzy that long strips of foam tumble along the beach.

I had a fantastic meal with Andrew and Helen on Friday, yes as odd as it is that my restaurant visits are as a threesome these days, good food, good company, we shall be repeating the experience. On returning home we carried out some taste testing on new ciders, hey what can I say it needed doing. Cider is an interesting and old debate between Andrew and Helen after Andrew moved to Strongbow and dropped the draught Blackthorn which Helen prefers. Now it turns out that neither Andrew or me actually drink or taste draught cider and so we started with a test comparing Strongbow with the new Carlsberg offering ‘Somersby’. I should have noticed the glint in Helen’s eye as we sampled the Strongbow, it is disgusting, I very much doubt it has ever seen an apple let alone had any used in its production. A taste of sweetness is followed by a chemical note and a lingering after taste of formaldehyde, this is not cider it’s chemical garbage.

At this point Helen is doing her sage knowledgeable face and saying “I told you it was rubbish” I think Andrew even conceded that the next brand debate they have should be supported by actual tasting. On to Somersby, a product recently launched to much fanfare by the mighty Carlsberg, the slightest hint of apple was detected almost ‘Strongbow with a hint of apple’ that’s a no as well absolutely revolting. We moved into the Bulmers range next, I am not a fan of their straight apple cider but nowadays I think that market is really captured by people like Aspalls and Stamford Press so its not a true reflection of their brand. Bulmers have two new varieties this year, red grape and black cherry, now each of these was a genuinely nice drink and will fly off the shelf in the summer months.

This got me thinking though, the draught cider staples of my childhood are about as artisan as cadburys dairy milk, our modern tastes expect more and I really have no idea how this is still sold except to older patrons and the traditional ‘cider and black’ crowd. There are some very good apple ciders out there but there is also a new market for adult fruit drinks and we may have finally realised that blue (a stable of the RTD market) is not a fruit, I for one am pleased about that. So our more mature tastes are seeking out real fruit names like black cherry and Forrest fruits, I hope the industry that responds is the fruit industry and not the same division of ICI chemicals that must make Strongbow.

Honourable mention to Helen for the cleanup, in the hospitality trade we often come across people that do not deserve to be shown any hospitality, in fact people that should not be allowed out of their house, whilst its all part of the job I do hope the person that did that to a toilet gets the help they need.

Many thanks to Wildcat for my new jewellery, sadly the knuckle duster arrangement is to heavy for an upper lobe piercing so will have to find its way onto eBay but the 6mm acrylic plug is proving a real challenge so that will keep me busy. For those that worry over these things the catalogue is safely in Helen’s care so out of reach to me…

In other news, technology is back on my side for the time being. I am writing this on my I Pad, my kindle is by my side and the beloved BlackBerry 9900 is safely in my pocket. The Kindle is actually pretty good, I have some 10000 books in my collection and the wonderful Calibre spent the night knocking on electronic doors and collecting meta data and cover pictures to fill any gaps, if you have an E book I thoroughly recommend Calibre. One thing that annoys me is that you can’t buy both formats, so if I have a paperback why doesn’t that entitle me to the E Book file? After all as a reader I have paid my royalties what difference does the medium make? E Books are in fact retailing a mere 50 pence below the hard copy price which hardly seems right. Commercial worries aside I love the E Book, its easy to read and you can get over the flashing as you turn pages but most importantly I have 50 books with me when I get on the train tomorrow and they weigh less than one paperback. I do like the fact though that when faced with a choice of 10000 books my colleague Andy was distraught “the kindle only holds 1100 how will I chose?” Bless him, I bet he has been running X Factor for books all weekend.

Some clarity for any of you that have heard the latest story regarding the accident, this one comes to me from Mallorca although to be fair it originates closer to home. Apparently stories abound that I upset some rather unpleasant people who took to me with iron bars and smashed my wrists up, now I actually prefer this story because it sounds very macho but sadly it has some serious flaws. The X-rays show clear compressive snaps of the ulna, you can actually see how my arms both shortened after the accident, to create this you have to absorb impact in through your hands, perhaps I could say that this was me defending myself? I hit them so hard that I broke my arms? I read a lot of books and I can’t see why somebody would want to break my wrists, if I owed you money how would I work to recover your loss? What heinous underworld crime causes you to lose your wrists? Answers on a postcard addressed to the gossips. Perhaps this is all the work of Mr(s)Smith generating a cover story to throw you off the scent when she makes her move, don’t be fooled.

One more honourable mention, to gorgeous Max, thanks for the kind words and I hope you enjoy reading, I will be checking the stats later to see how far you read.