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Shorts
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| Doing a Sharpie | |
| By BrianRobertNeal | ||||||||||||||||||
| 04 June 2006 | ||||||||||||||||||
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Part one. Nature imitates art, when this was first written, the ban was thought unliekly to come about. And now it will. This is not however a treatise on smoking. DOING A SHARPIE The meeting ended at 9.30 and he dropped his passenger off at about 9.40 and scuttled back home. On arrival he switched the engine off and the car rolled silently into its parking place. He got out and swiftly made his way to the Pub. The Landlord looked up as he entered the Saloon Bar and asked “sharp-half”? The question was rhetorical for the landlord had started the first part of a strange ritual. He poured a half-pint and put it on the bar. This was followed by a pint. Sharpie as he was known to his friends first downed the half pint. He then despatched the pint. Neither drink may have touched the sides of his throat. In the meanwhile the Landlord had re-filled the smaller glass. Sharpie put a fiver on the bar, picked the half pint glass up and the landlord dropped the change into the life boat box. Sharpie had said he owed them boys a lot and a few pennies meant nothing to him in fact he wished he could afford to put in pounds. He then went off to the snug and walked into a fug of tobacco smoke. In the snug were all his drinking mates, who as a man shouted, “Evening Sharpie.” Sharpie took a deep breath then said, “ I see that "Puffing Billy’s" been here and "Fidel Castro".” Bill Oldcastle smoked a pipe, and "Fidel Castro" who was also nicknamed “Walkies” had nipped in for a pint and a cigar whilst taking his dog for its constitutional. Sharpie sipped his last drink carefully. The Landlord appeared at the section of the bar that served the snug and said, “Make the most of this lads because when the Health Gestapo have their way there will be no smoking in this pub." Sharpie asked, “How’s the No-Smoking room going." There was a functions room which was only opened when there was a do or if the pub was really busy. It had not been very busy for at least ten years. It now was the No-Smoking Bar. The Landlord answered, “Go and have a look for yourself; however the writer’s group like it as they go there and it saves them the tenner I used to charge them for using it”. The landlord continued, “77% we are told don’t smoke, but most of them don’t go down the Pub. I would say that smokers spend £2 out of every £3 pound that I take in because smokers tend to be drinkers.” One of the blokes on the way to the bog had a peep in at the room and it was empty. He told the waiting masses in the Snug the news when he returned. Sharpie looked at his watch and it was 10.15. He downed his drink, said his farewells and shot off home. He arrived home at 10.20, crept in and went straight to the kitchen where he got himself a can out of the fridge. He took a big mouthful and swirled it before swallowing. He then poured the remainder into a glass and walked into the lounge. There she was fag in one hand and a gin in the other. Sharpie exclaimed, “This place stinks like an ashtray I do wish you could give up your disgusting habit.” She looked up at him and asked, “Why’s that then?” He replied, "It’s obvious woman yer killing yourself and it worries me.” She quickly responded, “Yes I know, I might die before you, then you would have to get off your fat backside and do something. For example you would have to do the washing, ironing and cleaning. I suppose you would get meals on wheels to do your grub.” Sharpie looked hurt; “It’s only you I’m worrying about. Think how much it costs you.” Once again his wife bit back, “It costs me £10 for 200. You should know cos it’s your mate that gets them and you’re the one I give the money to. What’s the matter you found somebody that would give you twenty quid, are you going to put the price up?” She then went on the offensive, “I tell you what. I’ll give up smoking, what will you give up?” Sharpie looked puzzled, “Me give up anything, apart from the odd beer out of the fridge what is there to give up?” She changed her tack, “Why do they call you Sharpie?” He answered, “Who are you talking about, nobody calls me Sharpie.” “Well “Walkies” wife, says that you’ve all got nicknames and the landlord calls the lot of you, the Snuggies. 2-3 three time a week you down 2 pints at the pub and then several large cans here. You can’t live in a village and have secrets.” Sharpie retorted, “I am not going to give up my one little pleasure.” His wife responded, “I would not dream of it, you can give something else up”. “What?, shouted Sharpie, “Is there for me to give up?” “Living in the past,. I’ll give up smoking if you can stop going on about a bloody war that ended 60 years ago. There is the constant round of re-unions and meetings and pilgrimages. You were twenty-two when it came to an end. Since then you’ve married, had kids, lost a son, got grand kids and all that means bloody nothing. If you had shown some of the interest in our eldest that you show for your bloody comrades, he might be here today! “If you’re gonna sit there talking rubbish I’m going to bed,” said Sharpie and off he went. Funny he never mentioned her smoking again. To be continued
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