NCIS

On Saturday during the day – quiet as it always is at such times – I was at the bar talking to Irena about NCIS, when a random bloke came up to be served, listened to our conversation for a bit and then amiably started joining in, as sometimes happens.

He told us that he and his wife had just started to watch it – and that although he liked it a lot he found DiNozzo  to be incredibly annoying.

I don’t think he’s annoying, but I told him that I do think that he bullies McGee and he said that his wife thought that as well and that she felt really for sorry him.

We chatted on for a bit about how much coffee Gibbs drank and how Irena thought that the way Abby dressed was a bit ‘off key’, and then he left.

[that’s the end of the story by the way. I just thought it was quite nice….hey don’t blame me, you’re the one’s reading this blog]

Soz

No Taps Blog – or as Gareth so kindly put it yesterday, mainly the mad ramblings of a lone drunkard Blog – as I’m snowed under at the moment.

Maybe tomorrow.

Saturday

I’ve written about Saturdays during the day in Taps before, but I don’t think that I’ve ever really spoken about the small things which, for me, make it so special – especially in the summer, or, as was the case this weekend just gone, an early summer’s day in mid spring.

Now, the first things to say about warm summer’s days is that you can pretty much guarantee that the Taps will be almost totally empty until it starts to turn a little chilly in the evening, as most of those people inclined to have a drink will either be at BBQ’s or in beer gardens, rather than sat in a dark cave like bar doing the crossword and watching foreign television.

And second, that the windows at the front will be open, and that therefore, as the afternoon wanes slowly on, that the bar will be cast in a beautiful liquid amber glow which changes in depth and warmth and colour as time slowly wanders on, and the brass and metal taps and handles will glow and shine, and cast dark shadows over the bar surface.

Honestly it is rather stunning.

Hang on, let me rephrase; if you love the Taps, you’ll find it stunning.

Well, hang on, let me rephrase again; if you love the Taps, and don’t particularly have a wide frame of reference, you’ll find it stunning.

Oh alright, let me rephrase again; if you love the Taps, don’t particularly have a wide frame of reference and have a particularly whimsical taste for finding beauty in the mundane and ordinary, then you’ll find it stunning.

Which is to say that I find it stunning.

I genuinely love it. There’s a quiet and a stillness that embodies everything I love about daytime drinking.

But then there are the other things which I love about Saturday’s. It was Grand National Day on Saturday – which is always quite fun. The Taps had two sweeps going which I’d put in for, and had also put £10 on a tip which Irena had received from the betting shop manager. We all watched the race down the end (Spurs were playing and as such take precedence over anything short of…well actually now that I think about it it’s short of nothing. I mean we actually have recently had earthquake, tsunami, riot and war, and we weren’t even allowed to put on Sky News on a slow Tuesday night when there actually was no domestic sport on – or customers in -, let alone during a Spurs game), tickets clutched in hand - including this American guy named Gerry (who, I suppose is now a regular and who I occasionally talk to when I’m outside smoking), who was witnessing his first Grand National, and in honour of which seemed to have bet on half the horses in the race.

It made me laugh though after the second fence when half a dozen horses had gone over quite badly and he looked around at everyone cheering and asked, ‘so this is what the English do for fun, huh?’

Anyway, that was nice – of course it was made even better that I won (I’ve now won on two of the last four nationals now, which can’t be a bad record). In fact it seemed that all the right people (by which I suppose I mean hatch regulars) won on Saturday. Irena and I both won on her tip. Gareth came first in one of the sweeps, and Colin the other. Daryl had a place on one and Laura B places on two.

However in an odd flight of trust and (possibly) bad judgement, Irena and I gave our tickets to American Gerry (who had also won) to take to the bookies to collect our winnings. Which was fair enough until he still hadn’t come back after half an hour and Mark, Daryl and Dan started winding us up saying that they’d just seen him get into a cab and tell the driver to take him to Spearmint Rhino.

[Rest assured Dear Readers, that he did eventually return – although, by which time, both Irena and I had started to worry that he had indeed done a runner, and it was getting quite difficult to laugh off the joking that he wasn’t coming back. It turns out that he’d actually just decided to stay in the betting shop and bet away half of his own winnings]

Irena was doing the split shift, so Casey started at five and was fetchingly (though inexplicably) bewigged in crimson, and for reasons known best to herself wanted to see what everyone looked like with it on. Naturally, and with the inevitable flawed judgement of the slightly inebriated we – which is to say, Murray, Terry, Sarah, Joe, John, Jimmy, Colin and myself (now there’s a collection of oddballs for you) all agreed to not only try it on in turn, but to also…let….her…take pictures (I’ve actually only just remembered the taking pictures part).

Hmmm.

And those are Saturday’s. Not for everyone, I have no doubt. Maybe they shouldn’t really be for anyone. Not anyone normal anyway. But they do for me.

They do for me.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

I went to the Kings Head fairly late last night as – it being a Thursday – the Taps was well on its way to becoming an intolerable scummers’ paradise.

I got there and my brother, Irena and Brodie were sat at the bar having a quiet drink while Lucy and Katy were working (i.e. joining in).

And that was quite nice.

But then Jade and Charlotte came in from wherever they’d been (and obviously that was even nicer) and we all sat at the bar talking about all manner of random things from deep sea diving to children’s names.

And it struck me then, as we sat there, that we were all, apart from Lucy, Taps people. That is, it was still the Taps but merely moved across the road.

(No matter how much Brodie protests it she still is a Taps person, and I would imagine will remain so for quite some time to come. Equally, I’m not sure how Charlotte feels about that either. Because, again, Charlotte will always be, to me and many others, a Taps person who just happens to work in the Kings Head)

And thus it was that I came to the following realisation (listen carefully Irena): if conditions are such that my remaining in the Taps becomes an unbearable hardship (e.g. if it’s full of scummers, there are no stools, the rugby isn’t on in Taps but is in the Kings Head) then I can actually take the Taps over to the Kings Head with me, as long as it remains in my heart and I only speak to Taps people while I’m  there. And that therefore, under those conditions, it’s not a betrayal for me to go to the Kings Head at all because I hadn’t, theoretically speaking, left Taps in the first place.

[High-five my bad self].

The Future Is Here

I was talking to Charlie last night about the pub, and I was really quite surprised by how much he actually likes Taps.

I mean, he is after all a young chap with lots of unruly hair and chequered lumberjack shirts, who, you’d think, would find the place at best dull, and at worse....well just faintly laughable.

But he doesn’t. He likes the place. And to me it was quite heartening to think that young people can still appreciate a decent local, and so that being the case, where they existed, there would still be a place and a future for pubs as central parts of local communities.

As I say, we were talking, and he reminded me of a Saturday afternoon not long ago when he came in to watch the rugby with a couple of his friends, and they’d been able to get a pizza delivered to the pub and eaten it at the bar.

Apparently his friends had thought it brilliant that they could do that, and Charlie still remembered it quite fondly.

And I thought to myself that although that’s only a small part of what it’s like to be a regular in a good pub, it was something which people were growing up with increasingly rarely these days given the rate that small pubs were closing and large standing up drinking markets like Wetherspoons and Yates, opening (because those really aren’t pubs; they’re something else entirely different).

I mean, when you think about it, the fact is that, staff apart, the youngest regular in the pub is probably Adam. And he’s not exactly a spring chicken.

But what I’m getting at is that the reason younger people don’t become regulars is that they don’t necessarily know what the benefits are of a nice local pub is. It’s a circular argument, I suppose. Because to enjoy a local pub you really need to be a regular, but if you don’t know what the benefits of a local pub are (opposed, say, to the Moon Under Water), would you even want to be a regular? Hell, why would you even go a locals pub in the first place?

Um....

I found out yesterday that every time Terry leaves his pint to take a phone call or go to the toilet, Rebecca draws a smiley face in his Guinness with her finger.

And apparently she’s been doing so for years.

I don’t really know what to do with this information, so I just thought I’d share my perplexity with you all.

Pass

It being Monday, it was of course Taps Quiz night again last night, and this time Jade and Gareth made a welcome, in all their youthful vivacity, addition to our team.

It is quite a surreal thing though. Sitting in an almost empty pub - Gareth, Adam, Ray, Colin, Jade and myself - in a long row at the bar, with the hatch down, while Irena asks the questions, all the while hoping that nobody will come in to spoil quiz night. And then at the end of each round, after the scores have been totalled up, everyone quickly scattering for a cigarette or loo break and then quickly reconvening for the next round.

We are an odd bunch, but I do like it.   

Things That Made Me Laugh #5

I was in the Taps on Saturday during the daytime, and as you’re all now aware, at around half 2 on a Saturday afternoon, there’s generally only myself, whoever happens to be working, in this case Deon, Barry and a couple of random people watching whatever sport happens to be on.

So these two blokes walk in to watch the Spurs game (both fairly young – in their mid twenties – and one of them wearing a Spurs shirt).

They walk up to the bar and Deon asks them what they’d like.

The first guy asks for a pint of Kronenbourg, and then asks his mate what he wants.

And the guy says, ‘A glass of red wine, please.’

Deon looks him up and down for a long quiet second and then burst out laughing. 

I Kid Thee Not

Did I ever tell you about the last time I went to the Bush Hill Park Hotel?

Yes? Well I don’t care. I’m going to tell you again anyway.

[there’s no point giving me that look]

Well, it was a Friday evening after work and I was going to have dinner at my sister’s house, who lives around the corner (the nice side, obviously). So I got off the train at Bush Hill Park and, naturally after a hard week at work, I felt like having a quick pint first, so I went to the Bush Hill.

Now I quite like the Bush Hill. I’ve always thought that the bar in the back function room is beautiful and almost worth a visit in itself – and it’s something of a shame that it’s not always open.  Equally, the beer garden is large and well kept and great for the summer.

But the main front bar is basically pretty rubbish. Essentially it’s just a room with chairs and tables and a small bar counter with not really all that much to choose from.

But the main thing about the last time I was in there was that all the TVs – and there are four of them – all large HD wide screens on each wall of a not very big in the first place pub  - were set to the National Geographic channel (which is all very fine and worthy and all) which was showing a documentary about the giant snakes of the Amazon rain forest.

I mean seriously, giant snakes?

Giant fucking snakes in close up on every single fricking’ wide screen high definition television on every single wall in your pub? That’s your plan?

Someone, with remote control in hand, seriously thought to themselves, ‘you know what this pub needs more of? Slimy slithering giant snakes of the Amazon in high definition, that’s what.’