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 

News from behind the bar

Well guys its been a while! Sorry for the lack of posts I seem to have difficulty aligning free time with functioning faculties at the moment. I get a second wind after trading ends but by that time I am unable to focus properly to write this.

So where are we now? Well this is the end of the weekend that starts my tenth week here at the Plough, where did that time go? The pub remains nearly as determined to succeed as I am to help her, we both have an uphill battle but hey if it was easy everybody would do it wouldn’t they. Local trade is picking up and tourist trade remains complimentary albeit in declining numbers. It is not only the pub herself that has character, the local community is littered with eclectic souls but each one is good-natured and supporting of the old girl in their own, often unique, way.

Notable visits from the big island this period have been Dave and Linda who spent 5 days here and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the hospitality of the old girl. It was great for me to see them enjoy every evening with people who drink in the pub, it shows what a wonderfully friendly environment the old girl creates. A visit from Andy, Geoff and Zoff was brief but nice although I missed the opportunity to cogitate on trade matters with Geoff probably because the Plough is busier than the Ship used to be, maybe next time. This month brings a visit from my good friend Andre, whilst he is only here for one night he gets a special mention for coming all of the way from Montreal to visit the little island.

Other notable mentions of late go to Jo for keeping me vaguely sane in between telling me off and taking the mickey (thanks sis), to Helen for lovely pics of smiles from the big island and to Andrew and Dave for being the sounding blocks I need sometimes.

There remains no staff here and I think it may be some time until there is as we are heading, rapidly, out of season. My working week runs to 130 hours and I am now working day 66 without a break, but its a great job. I don’t use the term ‘little pub’ so much now after a few early hours moments sat in the other bar and being somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the building, her history and the responsibility that she brings. The list of jobs is endless and grows at a rate that I couldn’t cope with even if I didn’t have to do the front of house stuff and I am constantly feeling guilty for not giving the property the time and effort she deserves. No of course I don’t eat or sleep properly but those that know me will know that is nothing new.

For those who will, inevitably, wonder I can confirm that I don’t regret the move. The pub is a wonderful pub and people are so complimentary about her and the experience that they have here. Whilst people still say that they can smell paint I can now smell the pervading smell of beer that tells me that the pub is alive. When I say the smell of beer I don’t just mean from where my clothes and skin are soaked in it but I walk behind the bar in the morning after a busy session and it just smells well seasoned. Last night I sat on the sofa in the bar with a bottle of water (yes water) at 1 am and once again pondered both where I am and the sheer enormity of the task ahead of me but I still feel the love for the place and remain immensely proud to hold the keys to the Plough.

This morning I had some calls to make and took the opportunity to take a stroll along the cliff top on an absolutely stunning morning. Looking out over the bay I could have been in any resort in the world, whilst its true that I don’t get to spend so much time out and about at the moment that is the view that explains why this is home.

The coastal view

Christmas day at the seaside gives the opportunity to spot some of the less noticeable traditions at this time of year. This morning started with the finger drumming drivers parked along the front and waiting. This is the young, and not so young, couples who have not yet reached the stage of sharing elderly relatives. The driver waits in the car dispatching his partner off to deliver the box of chocolates and then assumes the pose, fingers drumming on the steering wheel whilst wondering “does it really take this long?”.

Next up we have the beach strangers, the annual visitors. Small groups who seem overly formally dressed can be seen walking along the beach with the occasional confused looking dog. Well it’s Christmas and they are visiting the coast so you have to go on the beach don’t you.

I won’t discuss the once a year pub visitors as they are a subject worthy of their own post, so next up we have the wonderful game of “who are you going home with”. As the pubs close and people wander home so increasingly odd couples can be seen departing together. A routine that normally happens in the dark, after a night in the pub, moves to daylight hours on Christmas and can be quite enlightening.

I am not a fan of the festive season myself but this year I am finding the enforced shut down particularly annoying. I am waiting on estimates for works to the current prospect and find the two-week loss of activity quite frustrating. Whilst it is likely that the commercial reality will be too harsh to consider it is tough having nothing to do and getting no closer to the answer.

Complicated laces and lonely great aunts its all evolution

I overheard two staff members talking in the hotel the other day, the subject of choice was “poor Julie”, her terrible experience and how to avoid it. From the snippets that I overheard I gathered that Julie was a similar age to the two women that were talking, around mid thirties. It was clear from the conversation that whilst they sympathised with their friend and her ordeal she had rather ‘asked for it’. What decadence had she failed at? Well she had used the metro. It’s true, in 2013 this mid thirty year old woman had dared to use the London metro. Having made her way to London she had made the mistake of thinking that there was only one underground line.

Having made her way to the Victoria line and discovered that it did not include her destination on its route she was faced with a dilemma. Apparently the ‘logical’ answer was to board anyway and then follow the crowds. Now a top tip for anyone reading is that if you follow the crowds, wait for it, you will end up at the same place as the crowds. Having realised that all of London was not heading to her chosen destination she alighted and sought assistance. Unfortunately our visitor was not educated in the multicultural ‘language’ of the city and couldn’t understand the instructions that she was given. After a couple of hours of travelling subterranean London she found her terminus station and returned, distressed and exhausted, home.

You may think that I was in some odd enclave still awaiting electricity but I wasn’t. I have heard stories similar to this many times over the years, I recall friends telephoning in crisis because they have got lost on the circle line. It should also be noted that the two women that I overheard were both convinced that it was their friends error for venturing into town. I can’t help questioning how these people live their lives, not because they don’t understand the metro but because they give up. Having travelled all the way to London metro confusion causes you to return home and great-aunt Mildred doesn’t get a visit, why? Sure it takes some figuring but tying shoe laces was once more mystifying than the theory of time travel and you mastered that didn’t you. Where do these people think that we obtain ‘metro knowledge’ from, do they think that as children we are taken further and further away from home and made to find our way back? Are they bemoaning the lack of a ‘metro navigation’ course at the local college?

The human race is built on tenacity and refusal to surrender to what appears impossible so why are there some people who have lost this. Is this some confusion or mutation of evolution perhaps? I think that it is actually an extension of survival of the fittest, when the zombies come I am heading straight for the metro whilst these guys present themselves as snack food!

For those that are keeping an eye on the status of my life I must advise, with some sadness and a lot of frustration, that it remains stoically on hold. Despite three weeks of nervous phone calls and a challenging diary I am no further forward. I have no real estimates at the moment and judging by the language of my counsel I understand he is also no wiser, we all await some sort of update next week when the civil servants return to work.

Nocturnal visitors and loose screws

It has been a lovely weekend at the coast and quite calm but I thought that I would share some of my ‘normal’ with you.

I called for my prescription on Friday to be told “we need to get it signed, give us an hour”. 2 hours later I collected, deposited and paid the chemist the product would be ordered and would either be in Saturday or Monday. I returned on Saturday and they couldn’t find it, we debated the colour, type and my details for some ten minutes before somebody found it. It was in the tray for products being delivered today, since the delivery had just arrived if I gave them an hour they would dig it out. 1 hour later I returned to be told that the form hadn’t been signed by the doctor, they now had the product but couldn’t dispense it. Why didn’t they check this when they took the bloody thing in the first place? surely since a signature is a pre-requisite you check before you order the stuff?

On Friday night after the late pub in town had closed I was listening to the groups heading home when I heard my door open. I live on the second floor but I can still hear the communal foyer door quite clearly, I waited for my buzzer but it didn’t sound. Those of you that think me presumptuous for assuming any visitor were for me should know that very little of the building is occupied and I am by far the youngest occupant therefore most likely to receive 01:30 visitors. I was awoken again by a noise outside of my front door, presuming that somebody had left the communal door open I awaited a knock, again nothing. Now I know my neighbours are not here at the moment and there are only two apartments in the corridors so who was responsible for the noise? Like all security conscious people I went back to sleep and forgot about it. When I went out on Saturday morning there was a bag of rubbish in the hall, comprising takeaway wrappers and empty beer cans, neatly tied in a bag. I checked and my neighbours were still not there, somebody camped out in my hall and then left in the morning without trying to get my attention. I remind you that I am on the second floor and that there are several hallways before you reach mine, so why chose mine? Well I would like to thank my ‘visitors’ for not disturbing me, at my age I get grumpy when you wake me up.

I decided to run up my new Micky Sharpz tattoo machine on Saturday, so of course I needed a tattoo. I settled on an image and found a location, some 2 hours later I had a very nice piece on the inside of my leg, and cramp, and pain. The pain was not from the tattoo, oddly you become almost immune to this when you tattoo yourself, but from both wrists. If you can imagine that it is far more complicated, in terms of angles and such like, to tattoo oneself than it is to tattoo another and then add the mess that I call wrists you will get the idea. Packing up the gear was difficult because of the pain in righty, it is still hurting a lot today. I am wondering if they used any thread lock on the screws, if not will the vibration of the machine cause the screws to unwind? How cool would that be, returning to the consultant and explaining to him the principles of locking fixings in a vibrating environment. I could be the first person to need spring washers on his metalwork!

There you go, a weekend in the life of the ordinary man, the man in fact ‘who rides the Clapham Omnibus’ for my legally inclined friends.