Its not you but its definitely me

Let me start this post by pointing out that this, what you see every day, is my happy face. I know, because you tell me, that I look variously miserable, angry or broody but the truth is that this is me at my happiest.

I needed to point that out because tonight has involved good meaning people offering or trying to set me up with their friends. This whole idea is based on a myth. some bullshit fed to us as kids that we are better as a couple or that some other person offers us a reason to drive on, utter rubbish of course. Now every persons friend is ‘different’ but of course they would say that because they, quite rightly, love their friends.

So today, again, I pointed out that I am 45 years of age and in those years I have met several ‘different’ girls/women’ but the one stable thing is the result, this boy does not do well at relationships. In short I am an a**ehole, I don’t try to be, don’t set out to be, but I am it’s just who I am. I won’t cheat on you or treat you badly, I will do all that I can but what I offer will never be, and has never been, enough. The thing is that, at 45, I am cool with that. Your friend may be the nicest person on earth but I can make her into a demon hell I could turn an angel into satan.

It is not intentional, I don’t set out to do it and I guess that I would rather it didn’t happen but it is one of the few reliable skills that I have. See your daughter, your sister, your ex? I can turn them into utter ar**holes, every one a winner. I can’t hit a coconut at a shy but I could turn a nun into a right dick, it’s what I do.

So if you think I am great and you think I am just what your friend needs then think on after all she is your friend not mine. I will make her hate me, you will wonder both how that happened and why you were involved. The truth is that being single suits some of us, probably most of us, and some of us are so driven that it is only us that can be with us. I don’t mean this as some ego trip, I hate me, there is genuinely nothing in or about me that I like but, unlike the rest of you, I am stuck with me and I have learned to live with who I am.

Being single is not a bad thing and, in some cases, it’s a humanitarian thing because you don’t need me ruining more people it’s just not fair on those of you that feel some odd need to have a partner (good luck with that)

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Visits, windows and guns

Well I guess I should start by apologising for the appalling lack of posts, what can I say I have been busy. So the Plough now has two members of staff, the super human party animal that is Nick and the charming yet shy Lucy. My roster skills still suck with staff working quiet shifts followed by me being run ragged but hey that’s how I roll. Nick managed a manic Saturday last week and proudly proclaimed that after two months it is the first time that he has earned his wages! Wages… how serious is that? I have two members of staff… real people who I pay… never felt so grown up*!

Those of you who know me will know what a real achievement it is for me to have staff, people who work for me in my pub. As the consummate workaholic this is tough and many of my regulars know me well enough to smile when I step behind the bar to save a thirty-second wait. On the other side of the equation I know that the opportunity to be landlord rather than barman is one not to be missed and it is certainly what the pub needs.

I was almost overwhelmed to see Steve Till and his Mrs visit over festival weekend. Steve is an ex colleague but also a mate who I have known for years, to have him walk into the pub on a Saturday was one hell of a surprise but also lovely. It is always amazing to see people who are, in reality, having a courtesy visit stay for longer than they expected. As always it is strange to talk to people about my old world, I miss it and certainly miss the people, but it reminds me that this old lady is my life. It is an opportunity to realise that for all of the thousands of air miles, the amazing (and sometimes near impossible) achievements, I have now found my home and this pub will always be that.

To al of the people who ask how or why I do this I have the simplest answer so far. It is 2 am  Guns & Roses are blasting out in the bar and I am, once again, amazed that I am even allowed to do this for a living. Seriously this is my entire job, I cuddle some women, I shake some hands, I randomly insult some people and  I introduce others to some of the most amazing drinks and for that I get to call this wonderful old lady home. There are clearly worst deals out there so no chance of ‘twist’ I am happy to ‘stick’ with my hand.

That seems like pertinent timing, the mention of hand, since I am in some significant level of pain right now. I managed to scrape the skin graft right at the point where the skin graft catches a nerve. The irritation is beyond anything that a human should have to endure but more importantly it is refusing, as always, to heal. So to join the fact that I am now typing some right-handed letters with my left hand due to searing pain I now have a delightfully exposed tendon in the mess that is righty’s scar. Some of you will remember this hole and the pristine white tendon that it exposes, most of you wouldn’t wish to study it. As the crepe paper thin skin tries to regrow the tethering defeats it and the tendon tears back through. It’s a challenge but hey we have seen worse and it’s just day job now really.

To close I will address the question of success once again by comparison to the Ship, a pub that still holds a special place in my heart. I have a picture of the cellar (behind the dartboard) just after Christmas  with the biggest stock of empties that I had achieved. I know that those empties were more than the last long-term tenants had managed and I remain extremely proud to have enabled that level of sales in such a short time. A quick count up confirms that I traded more than that this week, last week, the week before that…, the Plough drinks more than that on a quiet week. This is a truly great pub and I am, once again, truly privileged to hold her keys.

*‘grown up’ can be switched with ‘scared’ at will 

Ghoulish winds and troubled bolts

We had very strong winds on the coast last night, the type that blow you over when you’re walking. When I left the ghoulish whistling through the pub windows I had to fight my front door against the air pressure leaking through every gap and crack, despite closed windows. I awoke in the night and realised something was wrong, getting up for a drink I spotted the cause of my concern the street lights were out. Returning to bed and laying there listening to the power of the ocean in the darkness of no street light was a lovely example of nature’s power.

I have found myself becoming increasingly frustrated by the ‘can’t do it’ generation. You know the sorts of people who tantrum at a challenge and just give up. I’m not sure if it is a generation thing or a sex thing, obviously either would be an unfair generalisation, but hey in for a penny. At work last week a colleague’s wife phoned for him to rescue her because she had a flat, as far as I know she is a healthy middle aged woman. I am sorry but if you cannot change a wheel you should not be allowed behind one! I am pretty sure that on the multi choice paper for the theory test there isn’t an option for ‘push up cleavage and shriek’.

Overhead on the train last week was the woman bemoaning her father for not coming round to sort a leaking tap. This was a commuter in her thirties presumably living alone so why should she wait for her father. Changing a washer is equally a very simple task and does not require a masters in domestic plumbing.

As I am writing this I can recall a rage building when I overheard a lady congratulating her friend on changing a wheel. The conversation involved lots of “wow”, “so brave”, “so clever” and the ever present “I wouldn’t have known where to start”. By the time that they had finished I wanted to grab them by the ears and shake violently whilst yelling “it’s a bloody wheel”. This is part of the bizarre need to celebrate every little thing whether it’s an achievement or not. You are an adult, driving a car and got a flat, this is a routine failure. You don’t need qualifications or a diagnostic machine, here’s a thought they even give you all the tools. Don’t tell Sindy but they actually expect you to undertake this task yourself.

This morning I hit the most ridiculous praise, one that always gets me. A girl was talking to a very new mum and congratulating her on how well she did with the birth rolling out the old line “I couldn’t do it”. Forgive me if I missed something in the basic biology of man but, once you’re pregnant, you’re doing it simple as that. This is not a choice where the mother chose the harder route and succeeded, she did what she had to do.

What irks me in all of this is the attitude that some people have. It is as if they have another option on their mental checklist that says “don’t bother, get a man to do it” and this is spreading so soon we will have no men to do it either. One day the human race will be defeated, not by aliens or disease but by a bolt!

How do these people think that the person they turn to learns? You know when we don’t over tighten that bolt? That’s because we did once. You wonder how we knew that extra screw was there? Because we forgot it once. Most importantly if you wonder how we know it’s no mystery we just don’t give up. A special note to parents, when your child brings broken pieces of toys to you don’t chastise them they are learning. You know how your partner is ‘not very practical’ that’s because his mum told him off for breaking things, think on.