Yesterday is gone

I was born in the wrong year, perhaps the wrong era, or perhaps in the wrong body; for surely our skin and bone is just a waste product that the soul will discard as easily as a whore takes off her dress!

Or perhaps, as passionately as my parents have wanted to climb from the earthy slum from which they were born I have always had an equal desire to slip back down into the mire; a desire not to mix with aspirants, a desire not to spend my evenings talking about house prices and the frightful worry of secondary school selection for their precious. I have always had the strongest desire to drink my drinks with men who have none of these concerns.

And tonight, as I walked passed The-Worst-Pub on the way to tesco metro I glanced into a window of the pub. Well, it was more than a glance, I stood transfixed starring into a world that was suddenly unfamiliar; it was a clean world, full of clean middle aged people reclaiming a building that had been occupied by the enemy since time began. The room that I could see from the street had used to be the nursery for tomorrows drinkers, the room where they first fell in love, had their first fight and more importantly it was the room where they learned the sacred rules of the pub drinker.

Take me back to the world of Shakespeare’s taverns or the smoke filled gin palaces of the nineteenth century. In fact, just take me somewhere else!