The local village pub is a perfect microcosm of society, replete with colourful characters beyond the imagination of the greatest novelists. Particularly one in a typical Yorkshire village. Workers, managers, retirees. Regulars with specific times and days; those who only appear occasionally. Opinionated council employees, tree surgeons who believe they know everything; civil engineers, brewers, men of the cloth. Groups of older women who should know their limits better. Young couples just starting their journey together. Alcoholics, reformed and otherwise. Chaps who mistake a taste in music for a personality. People who would never normally meet, except for one reason: the heart of their community, the warm, dry place with a welcome, a smile and a good pint of ale. The pub.
As both a regular and the supervisor at my local, I’m in a unique position to interact with and get to know these people. And thus to share them with you.
You’re going to be reading a lot about these people, so it makes sense that I introduce you to at least some of our colourful regulars. Obviously, there are too many to cover here, and those I do not mention I’m sure will come up in future.
Before we begin, let me first state though, that I love each of our regulars, and there is absolutely no malice in any of the stories I tell here. Nevertheless, to protect the innocent, I have changed their names.
So, to start, here are some short stories to introduce some of the regulars.
Father
Not mine, and not a man of the cloth. An almost daily regular, who calls in with and without his dog, often on the way to ‘get a lottery ticket’ or to get away from his beloved ‘Treacle’ when she’s having a rant. Father is retired, and spends a couple of days a week looking after his grandson. When he isn’t doing that, he often has a ‘do nowt’ day. Which is normally what causes Treacle to have a go at him. Far from a doddery old man, Father remains very fit and strong, despite his hip which gives him some trouble, a result of a brutal beating he took from some thugs at another nearby pub in the act of defending a young lady.
Despite being generally fit and strong, and with a strong memory and good knowledge, Father often has a blind spot or two. Like when he recently went on a week’s holiday to Spain.
The full story of how and when he arranged his lift to the airport will have to wait for another time. But just for a quick example of how Father’s mental blind spots can manifest, I need to tell you about his efforts before departure at the airport.
Treacle wasn’t able to accompany him on this particular trip due to work commitments. So Father was travelling solo. He went with specific instructions from Treacle: the flight is with Ryanair, you’re already checked in, so just walk straight through security. Do. Not. Turn. Right.
Guess what he did.
Yep, he turned right. And queued for an hour to check in with Jet2.
Father only realised his mistake when the lady at the check-in desk told him his ticket said Ryanair, not Jet2, and he was already checked in…
Batman
A daytime regular, obviously retired. In most weekdays, but we rarely see him over the weekend. Batman is a keen gardener, with his own allotment, and regularly brings in the spoils of his soil for sharing around the pub. He’s also a keen fisherman, heading out at the crack of dawn for a couple of hours on the riverside.
Batman once fashioned a floating platform to allow him to get nearer the middle of the river. From what I can fathom, this platform was basically a pallet with a couple of drums for buoyancy. And needless to say, this platform failed on its first usage. Having extricated himself from the river, presumably cursing all the way to the bank, Batman had to drive home in just his sodden boxer shorts.
He also seems to believe nobody has ever heard a joke before if he himself hasn’t. Like when he asked me the other day what the most common type of owl was in the UK. When I told him it was a ‘teat’ (a tea towel), he was genuinely shocked that I’d heard what must be one of the oldest jokes known to man.
But perhaps the best way I can sum up Batman and give you an idea of his comic traits is this: he is a proper, typical Yorkshireman who loves a bargain. He used to be a travelling sales rep, with expenses for food and fuel. He’d often leave home before sunrise to get to his clients’ offices, somewhere in the north-east, before anybody arrived to work. He’d drop is calling card through the letter box and be back on the road home before 8am. He did this for two reasons: There would be less traffic on the road so he would use less fuel (typical tight Yorkshireman), and so he could be back at the pub for opening!
Goodness only knows how he ever earned any commission if he never actually saw anybody!
Skroob
If you haven’t watched Spaceballs, you’ll not know who President Skroob is. Amongst his many villainous traits, one thing that stands out about Skroob is his inability to make a decision. Fortunately, the decisions you have to make in a pub are relatively simple and don’t have much of a bearing on major outcomes or life changes. (Mostly. Unless that decision is to have a skinful and drive home. Don’t do that. Please.)
Skroob doesn’t like ale or lager, so his choice of draught drinks is limited. Normally it’s a pint of purple fruity cider, unless we have a particularly sweet scrumpy on, in which case he may plump for that. Often, though, he drinks alcoholic dandelion and burdock. Until he’s had two or three, or is on a proper session. In which case he’ll drink spirits and mixers. And that in itself is a whole different saga.
Firstly, he doesn’t like to stick to one drink all night. If we have a particularly pleasant guest gin, rum or flavoured vodka, he may indulge in a couple. But then the real problems begin. You see, our spirit range is quite limited, and mainly caters to a certain age of drinker. We’ve only recently introduced a peach schnapps and a coconut rum. Apart from that, we have a brandy; a Scotch blend; a single malt; an Irish Whiskey; one vodka; a spiced, a white and a navy rum; and a few other basic spirits. Which often leads to the refrain ‘I don’t know what I want’. If I’m serving Skroob in this mood, I can be with him for a decent amount of time, listing all of the drinks we have available. Probably twice. Then a begrudging decision is made.
I honestly don’t know why I have to list the drinks available though. Because Skroob also works in the pub…
Of course, his indecision doesn’t just manifest at the bar. Skroob also likes to travel regularly.
Which is why he was incredibly excited a few weeks ago when he was trying to book his forthcoming holiday. He’d already booked the week off work and was weighing up where to go. It was definitely going to be a staycation; ideally somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A cottage or a cabin where he could shut himself away of an evening, yet somewhere with plenty of pretty scenery to explore on foot to blast away the vodka and rose wine-induced hangovers during the day.
His favourite part of the UK was looking promising: the Lake District.
So he found himself a lovely little cottage on a rental website in Coniston. One bedroom, with a nicely-appointed living-dining-kitchen, en suite bathroom, outside space to sit for breakfast. It all looked lovely. He was incredibly excited about booking it. But in his typical dithering way, he wasn’t completely sold.
It was a lot of money, and it was a long way away. Particularly when his car was in need of a few new parts.
He spent most of the shift to-ing and fro-ing whether he was going to book this cottage. Until finally, as we shut the doors and sat down for a post-work drink, he pressed that fateful button. He let out a squeal of excitement. He was going to Coniston for a week’s walking and relaxing.
It was only at this point did I ask to see where he was going. He showed me on a map. I found the same property on my phone. And asked him if he knew there was more than one Coniston in the UK.
And the one he’d booked was just outside of Hull…
https://www.instagram.com/p/CwVrvTsI5nQ/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
I love this!