Life Behind Bars (9 page)

Now I had to re-group them
without drawing attention to the situation.  Round five was general
knowledge and we had to get back on track.  We were in second place to
‘Habeas Corpus’ from the pub across the road; a bunch of toffee-nosed
sods.  I couldn’t wait to wipe the smug smile off their faces.  This
was the last round and I was primed and ready to go.

Cheat number one came past pissed
and I couldn’t make out what the question was.  So I dashed into the gents
to find out what he’d said.  Oh my God!  Half the male population of
the bar were in there.

By now cheat number two had
passed by my stance and shouted the question into thin air.  Now I had
numbers one and two to answer and three was looming.  I went as quick as
Google could.  Got the answers, shouted them so loudly that everyone in
the bar who didn’t know, now did.  Suspicions were being raised.

Cheat number four and team member
number five got into an argument about what question was he answering.  I
was under so much pressure I roared “Australia!” to the team captain of ‘The
Winner Takes All,’ who had just come to get some tomato sauce.  The game
was up.  The plan had failed and we were disqualified.

“Fuck it.”   I thought.

If we weren’t the winners, they
were not getting the finger buffet.  So with great aplomb, I removed all
the remaining food and called a halt to the proceedings.

I have to say had it been anyone
else but these nerds, I would have expected a riot, but, they stamped their
feet, slammed their reference books and slunk off into the night.

At a league meeting we were barred
for life. Who cared?  Our quizzes were much better fun anyway!

PUB QUIZ

Food & Drink

1. What sort of pastry is used to make profiteroles?

2. What is the national dish of Hungary?

3. Which nut is used to flavour traditional Bakewell Tart?

4. From which country does Rioja wine come?

5. In the dish Beef Wellington, in what is the beef wrapped?

6. What is the main vegetable used to make Borsch?

7. From which part of Ireland does Murphy’s stout originate?

8. What is Bombay Duck?

Geography

1. In which European country is the city of Salzburg?

2. To which EU member state do the islands of Gozo and
Comino belong?

3. Where in Italy can the Ponte Vecchio be found?

4. Into which sea does the River Danube flow?

5. Above which city does Panorama rise?

6. Known in Flemish as “Luik” what is the French name for
this Belgian city?

7. Which European country is denoted by the letters ‘CH’ on
motor vehicles?

8. Which European country was re-unified on 3
^rd
October 1990?

Music

1. Which singer fronted the pop band Duran Duran?

2. Which pop group had 1960s hits with songs written by
Brian Wilson?

3. From which part of Britain does the pop band Stereophonics
hail?

4. Which pop singer’s career was resurrected after being
featured by comic Peter Kay?

5. Who recorded “Ebony and Ivory” in 1982 with Paul
McCartney?

6. Which eccentric pop singer made his mark with the band
Culture Club?

7. Which pop singer starred alongside Kevin Costner in the
film ‘The Bodyguard’?

8. Which pop group’s lead singer married the actress Gwyneth
Paltrow?

General Knowledge

1. What did the W stand for in the Name F W Woolworth?

2. What was advertised in the 1980’s with the slogan ‘If you
see Sid, tell him?’

3. What was the last port of call for the Titanic?

4. Where is there an American flag that has not been lowered
since 1969?

5. Which theoretical temperature corresponds to -273.15
degrees Celsius?

6. Which is the longest month in the year?

7. Chomolunga and Sagarmatha are alternative names for what?

8. What is the highest peak in England?

Answers at back of Book

Heart Attack!!!

One thing all landlords or ladies fear is the heart attack victim or
someone dying on the premises.  I know that sounds very unfeeling, but
there is nothing like a heart attack victim to put someone off their mixed
grill with extra fries and a pint of lager.

God forbid, if it’s ever going to happen, it won’t be on a quiet
Tuesday in February, but bang in the middle of your busiest Friday night when,
for once, everything is running smoothly

This particular nightmare began when one of the girls discreetly roared
across the dining room.

“Phone for an ambulance, quick!  This man’s having a heart
attack!”

Sure enough in the furthest and most inaccessible corner of the dining
room, an extremely large man was obviously struggling with an apparent heart
attack.  His wife, poor soul, looked as if she was about to suffer one too
and was endeavouring to get him to swallow some pills, but the man was by now,
very distressed.

The ambulance crew arrived within minutes and on assessing the
situation, realised they had a problem.  The dining room had both fixed
tables and chairs and moveable tables and chairs; all laden with food and
drink.  Quite frankly, after the initial shock, most diners had resumed
eating.

The problem was how to get him to the ambulance.  He couldn’t go
out the front door on a stretcher; too many angles, he couldn’t go via the fire
escape for the same reason.  It would have to be out through the kitchen.

Plates were shifted, drinks piled high on the bar, tables and chairs
which could be moved were, but people were very protective of their food and
very reluctant to let it go.  However, with none too gentle persuasion,
this was finally accomplished, and with the combined assistance of crew, staff
and diners, the gentleman was rescued from his table and onto the stretcher.

With a great deal of pushing and heaving he made it to the
kitchen.  This accomplished, the diners lost all interest in the patient
and were busy trying to retrieve their plates and drinks to resume their meals.

Everything now had to stop in the kitchen.  Piles of crockery,
food, in fact
everything
had to be moved out of the way.

Eventually he was passed over the kitchen equipment and out into to the
waiting ambulance.  The only thing the man on the stretcher seemed to care
about was that he had been only halfway through his meal and my promise that
when he was better, to come back as my guest seemed to cheer him
up.  

Meanwhile I was ungraciously thinking, for all this disruption, it had
better not have been indigestion . . .

What time is it???

The late drinker is the bane of
every public house the length and breadth of the country.  There is always
one regular who appears ten minutes before closing and insists on having time
to enjoy his drinks.  On an odd occasion no one minds, or if the person is
a shift worker, but the persistent late drinker is hard to tolerate.  

We had a couple, Jill and Hugh,
who arrived every evening at 10.45pm; fifteen minutes before close and at 11.45pm when we closed at midnight.  Now, we were not their last port of call, they
didn’t work until late evening, they watched all the TV they wanted and then
left their home at 10.30pm to walk to the pub.

The problem with the late drinker
is, he has just begun his evening out and sees no reason why he can’t enjoy his
drink at whatever pace he wishes.  He doesn’t take into account that this
particular hostelry has been open for twelve hours and that those working there
would quite like to retire to their homes after a gruelling day.

Not only were these two late, but
they were late and boring, and I never quite worked out which was the greater
sin.  To be continually kept late, or to be kept late listening to the
most inane rubbish.  On arrival they would order their drinks and then
programme by programme inform us what had happened.

Even though I have never been an
exponent of the soaps, during their sojourn, I was well up to date. No mean
feat, having never watched an episode.  Heaven forbid if I had taped a
particular programme to watch at my leisure; no point.  I got Jill’s
version and the programme lost its appeal after that.

Their second drink was timed with
absolute precision.  Just before time was called they would order their
next drink, which was always a pint of lager and a bottle of something for
him.  A large white wine and glass of soda for her.  This could
extend their drinking time to almost double; she would sip her wine and with
every sip add soda.  The fecking glass never got empty and he would do the
same.  Sip of lager and top up with the bottle.

Now, licensing hours are very
strictly adhered to and whilst a few minutes to get rid of customers at the
weekend is overlooked, continually having customers on the premises at 11.30pm is not acceptable.  Despite several warnings from the local Bobby, I could
not shift this pair.

I tried everything to remedy the
situation, but no joy.  They ‘knew their rights.’   What about
my rights?  They refused to change their habits, so I had to resort to
subterfuge.

Minutes before they arrived I
changed the clock and advanced it by fifteen minutes.  With the assistance
of the regulars around the bar, who had all advanced their watches too. 
So, on their arrival I had rung ‘last orders.’  Well, they argued and
argued but we were adamant.  Every pub opens by its clock and shuts by its
clock.  No contest. 

This went on for a couple of
nights and thinking they would beat me, they came in earlier.  
Problem solved!  However, they left for pastures new soon after, telling
everyone that they had not felt welcome.  Christ how long did that take to
penetrate?

Their next ‘home’ was the pub
across the road and believe me, I’m brave but I wouldn’t tackle the publican
from the Red Lion.  I would watch them walking hand in hand, making for
this hostelry but never later than 10pm.

Last Drink . . .

Late one evening, two fairly
sombre-looking men came into the bar.  They ordered a couple of pints and
sat down to enjoy them.  Just then one of my locals came in and asked who
had died.  Thinking he had spotted the two chaps, I shushed him up.

“No, no,” he said.  “There’s
a bloody great hearse in the car park.” 

A few of his cronies rushed out
to confirm this statement and sure enough, there
was
a bloody great
hearse in the car park. After several more pints the sombre men explained they
were on their way to Blackpool to collect their best pal who had died whilst on
holiday.  They regaled the assembled company with stories of their best
mate and his antics and joined the locals in a first class ‘piss up’ to
commemorate their dear departed mate.  Eventually, off they went to the
local B&B to continue their journey the next day.

We all had a good laugh about the
hearse and got on with the day.  But lo and behold at about eight in the
evening the hearse returned, complete with the body of their dear departed
friend.  They came into the pub and proceeded to get absolutely legless
with the locals, saying that their friend would really appreciate it and this
was the only way that they could do it.

I had terrors of the departed
being propped up in his coffin in the corner of the bar with a pint but
fortunately they left him in the hearse in the car park all night.  I must
admit I did check at various times to make sure he was still there.

Whether they had any other stops
planned for their friend I will never know.

Burnt Offering . . .

Just when you thought business
couldn’t get worse?  Imagine how you’d feel if you saw your profits go up
in smoke, quite literally, in the microwave!

One very busy Friday night one of
my staff decided to empty the notes out of the till.  For some reason,
known only to her, she put them in the microwave for safekeeping.  She
took the plate of food which was already in there, out, and replaced it with
the money.  Locked the kitchen door and went back to work.

About ten minutes later, David,
my husband, returning from a golf match, went into the kitchen to heat up his
dinner which I had prepared earlier.  Unfortunately, instead of a piping
hot dinner, he had hundreds of pounds of burnt cash. 

You try telling that to an
insurance company!

Fully booked . . .

Most publicans are paranoid about
what the competition are doing and you will frequently be visited by other
licensees on any pretext, just to see if you are doing better than they
are.  I have to say it was not a practice I indulged in myself (I always
sent someone else!)  But I could well understand their paranoia.

We were the busiest pub in town,
no question, but I still had those pangs if perhaps, one rainy day, we were
down one lunch on the week before.  I would have staff haring all over the
place checking numbers and faces.  It probably took ten years for me to
get it through my thick head that if we were quiet everyone else was dead.