Pub Life

He sits down, a pint of Stella in his hand. From the depths of his pockets comes the tobacco box, metal, hard to decide if any inscriptions or designs are embedded in it. He takes a sip of his beer, then has a look at the stage, turns 180 degrees around and mutters a few words to the nearest person.1

‘‘Yeah, I like music, I like all music, you know, yeah all of it’’, he draws with his finger a large circle, gesticulating his omnipresent music taste. The nearest man says nothing, drinks his pint, maybe nods, but doesn’t say anything, hearing the slurring speech and the thick Punjabi accent.2

‘‘You know I like this place, nice isn’t it?’’ now speaking to his latest talking partner, apparently sitting opposite. His partner replies, talks about enjoying the pub life, the sort of spirit, the camaraderie.3

‘‘Yeah, these clubs nowadays, just can’t beat the sort of small, friendly atmosphere, you know, it’s really friendly, yeah, I like it, you know, that sort of atmosphere, yeah’’ he rambles often, his discourse travels in concentric circles, and the conversation could just run on a force-feedback loop for the rest of the night. The other agrees.4

‘‘Hey, you want a drink? Come on, you’ve got none’’ he pushes the pint along the wooden table as the beer’s froth shakes and moves and spills a little of the white cream over the pint glass’s edges. His partner refuses, not drinking tonight, maybe doesn’t want to get in the state of the ageing man opposite.5

‘‘Hey, I dunno why you don’t want any, what’s your problem?’’ his comrade declines politely once again.6

‘‘Hinduism defended them, Hinduism defended them! Just so many you know, and then the war and the Palestinians, eh, no? What were they thinking with that?’’ his slurring gradually seeps into a rant on world politics, a cut and paste exercise of differing events and times, a jumble of thoughts and feelings, masked somewhat again by the slur of his alcoholic’s voice. His friend expresses the lack of interest in politics, embarrassed possibly, unsure of the subjects.7

The tracks are switched on the conversation quickly, helped along by the intermission of another pint from the bar. When he returns the conversation moves to general pub talk, the consistency of the crisps from the packet of Salt and Vinegar, the taste of a cold beer, the warmth of the pub, the cold outside of it. Mainly linear now, a gradual increase in volume, talking over the bands and artists now playing at the open mic night.8

‘‘Sorry, I’ve gotta talk over all this music…. Yeah, I know, yeah, it could be worse… erm, but then I like most music.’’ The end of the song sets off a clapping response from the audience, he joins halfway through in unison, and the conversation between fellow patrons increases for the moments between the end and beginning of songs.9

‘‘What d’yer reckons up with that guy? He had too much to drink?’’10

‘‘Could be schizophrenic’’.11

‘‘I don’t know, is he trying to get attention? Just seems sad’’.12

‘‘Episode of Quantum Leap?’’13

‘‘Heh, or maybe the stove just makes for good conversation’’.14

‘‘Ha ha, perhaps’’.15