Why God Why?

If life were meant to be emotionally balanced it would be dull.

Liam stuffs bird

After a very short honeymoon period the-worst-pub is back to being the worst pub. Captain Pugwash seems painfully shy; he wants to come and say hello to the regulars but he never actually makes it over to us. The heating is still on high but the bar has gone back to the same old sloppy standards. Since The-Worst-Cook has been sent to another pub, I haven't heard one complaint about the food.
Liam, Wilson, Albert Camus and a whole crowd of other divorced boozers always go to My Friends house for Christmas day. It is organised with military precision and each diner has his own specific role. They all felt a little under pressure tonight. Wilson kept showing me his very long shopping list and moaning that it would take him three hours in Morrisons to find it all. Liam is on turkey cooking duty! He pulled his chair close to where I stood at the-smoking-table and confided in me that he was overcome with the responsibilty of cooking the bird. "But I swear to you," he said, "I fucking swear to you, I will put it in the oven at seven and I won't move from in front of the oven until it is done."

The New Regime Part Two

They have moved the fucking smoking-table! They have moved the fucking smoking-table ten feet to the right into an alcove.
And apparently you are no longer allowed to sit at the bar!!!!!!
Captain Pugwash, I don't think I like the cut of your jib Sir.

Landladies Leaving "DO" Part Two

I was saving part two, for her last ever night in residence. But as she had shut the-worst-pub because it had run out of beer! It is an unfinished tenancy!

The New Regime. Part One

For various reasons I only had twenty minutes in which to down a pint of premium lager and sample the-worst-pub in its new guise.

As I entered I noticed that it was spotlessly clean. All the ashtrays were empty, and just when I thought it was all going too well, I saw that there were no bar staff behind the bar. The-Builder-Who-Wants-To-Be-An-Actor was waving a tenner around with no particular urgency. Panic Attack, My Friend, Liam and Wilson were huddled together at the corner of the bar. I heard My Friend say to Liam, "Just wait 'till he hears how much it is!" I had twenty minutes to get served, drink a pint, go to Tesco-Metro and get home to my pre-menstrual wife. I didn't have time for bar-room banter. I was on a mission.

I ignored The-Bulider-Who-Wants-To-Be-An-Actor and sidestepped him to catch a member of the bar-staff down 'Shirkers Alley.' My heart sang; in front of me were seven members of staff all in new T-shirts and raring to go. I smiled. They all smiled back. I smiled again while counting their number with my nodding head. They smiled back. "They can't serve you, they don't know how to use the till," said a porcine face in a badly fitting sports jacket. I smiled at him. He didn't smile back. This was my first meeting with Captain Pugwash.
I chased the barman who did know how to use the till back to his till when I had been served. "Two pound fucking seventy!" The lads laughed. MyFriend said, "I told you."

Zara Phillips wins BBC Sports Personality of the Year

Why? Why? And fucking why?????

You assholes. She was born with everything and you were born with nothing.
Just through a quirk of whose thighs she emerged between dictated whether she was royalty or serf. Nothing else. Her blood line was never elected.
Darren clarke came second!!!!!!!!!!
When Australia had their referendom, I couldn't believe they still voted for the queen.
Long live the Irish and long live the French . . . . .At least they have balls!!!!
I am too upset to write more but will publish this now and come back to it in the morning.

It Can't Get anyworse!!

Walt and I approached the worst pub tonight and found the doors locked. I knocked upon the locked doors and the barman with the treble clef tattoo came to the door and mouthed "we are closed."
"Why" I shouted.
"We have run out of beer" he mouthed with a straight face.
I laughed, Walt laughed and the barman with the treble clef tattoo laughed (silently I would imagine) from the other side of the locked double door.
We went to the-best-pub and had a great night.

Landladies leaving "Do" Part One

Now, at the ripe old age of forty one and having spent twenty four of those years as a regular of various pubs, I know that the farewell to a publican is always a sad occasion. Whether it is you or they who are moving on, it is an emotional experience.
Tonight it is our landladies leaving "Do".
Last night before I left, Wilson told me not to have any tea before I came out as all the regulars were invited to the private party with a buffet that was being held in the front bar. As I entered the-worst-pub tonight, I saw that the area was indeed cordoned off and festooned with balloons.
I stood at the corner of the bar watching Sky Tv and ignoring Wallace, Albert Camus and Panic Attack. Albert Camus shouted over, " you're quiet tonight o'malley" I told him that I was. He walked around to me and held me in a bear hug and said, "Then I hold you, tell you I love you and we will speak tomorrow." You lovely, crazy Macadonian!

After my first pint I felt good enough to start to talk and approached the-smoking-table. It was full. I stood behind Derry-Man and moved him and his chair to the right. I was showing off. If anybody else had done that there would have been murder.
Cool-Hand to my left, then George, then Steelback, Steelbacks friends girlfriend, Steelbacks friend and Wilson.
For fucks sake, Steelbacks friends girlfriend had a body made for sin. And did she have to keep dropping her lighter and picking it up so that her jeans dropped and her top rose and we were left with a view of the sexiest lacy g-string I have seen for an age. And did she have to wear a too tight top with a bra that must have been two sizes too small underneith.

Nativity Play

Well, after last nights shenanigans and without much sleep I awoke to find my wife in a world of false jollity and it took me a few minutes to remember that it was my son’s nativity play this morning and that was why she was talking to me after last night’s row; All must be well before his first performance. As I had so few hours sleep and nothing to eat, I was very aware of the clinical smell of the school hall compared with my just got up, just had a fag and breathing last night’s booze all over the catholic faithful sort of smell that was coming from me.
My son was playing the spider in the stable. Oi oi oi . . If you don’t know just how integral the spider in the stable was in the story of the birth of our Lord you know fuck all.
After it was over, the Headmaster (who sounds like Jimmy Cricket) wished us all a happy and Holy Christmas. Bollix to all you bauble and tinsel banners!!!

Iraq War

As I suddenly feel free on this blogging thing, I just want to say.......
Get out of Iraq you bastards. Stop this illegal war. Cut your losses. You have started a civil war and now be grown up enough to let them finish it.
Question: Name one country (apart from Hong Kong, that was on a lease) that a colonial occuping force has left without terrorism forcing it out?
Question . . . Name me one of those countries that didn't have a civil war directly after the occuping forces withdrew?

Answers in a body bag to the usual email

Sex Tourists Revealed

I haven’t been entirely honest. A terrible admission I know, but, better late than never.
I have received some correspondence regarding the sex-tourists who drink in the-worst-pub. Did I keep them anonymous deliberately and what are my thoughts on the matter? Well Kevin from PA, wherever that is . . .I thought it was someone who made your coffee and bought flowers for your wife when you were busy playing golf . . .I wasn’t aware that I had not revealed their identity. But when I look back to my last post, I realised that you had a valid point.
Alright, here we go, Wilson and Liam are the sex-tourists. But as sex-tourists go, I am sure that they are very respectful and generous sex-tourists.

Santa's little helpers

Sorry for the delay; I blame my continuing boozing and the resultant feeling of self-loathing that inhabits every waking sober thought of every drinker for my absence. The highlights have been: Cool-Hand and George have struck up a very odd relationship. Cool-Hand is a great groomer of thoughts and situations. In-fact, Cool-Hand is a great groomer of people. And if George isn’t careful he is going to have to swallow hard to pay off all those free drinks. Wilson and Liam’s friendship gets deeper and deeper. The sex tourists are moaning in their beer that they are not going to Thailand for Christmas. As Sex Tourist one said, “It won’t seem like Christmas without one of Santa’s little helpers sitting on my face for less than the price of a pint.”