Coooeeee! Back On The Chain Gang
Strangely, wonderfully, I am alone in the house. It’s quite thrilling in its very unusualness and I feel I should be painting watercolours in the nude or seducing the postman with rum trifle and the kind of talk that drives postmen* wild, to really make the most of it.
But instead I’m celebrating by writing a post. It’s been a while and I’ve been missing me blog pals. The last couple of months have been eventful, good and bad by turns and then twists and if this summer had been an equine intestinal disease (say, for example, um) then it would have been gangrenous colic with perfectly good bits of bowel being strangled by other twisted, crappy parts.
But I shall skip lightly over the bad bits like Prezzo Bush over the hot coals of reality (He does seem like a happy, untroubled guy with all that collecting brush and cycling – perhaps I should emulate him more in day to day life – not sweating the big or the little stuff; it’s a sort of genius when you really look at it) and give you a brief brief on the better bits of butter:
We are buying a bar! Well. We are going thirdsies on our local watering-hole with two other couples and it is all but a fait accompli. The role of Problemchild/Husband is chiefly one of investor and another partner will be salaried to run the place but it has always been a dream of the ProblemH’s to own a bit of a bar – the bit where the taps are – and to be able to stroll in and act like a big-shot now and again. He’s worked hard in life – he deserves a bit of fun. I, for my part, am starting to explore a kind of Peggy Mitchell (brassy, boobsome, bawdy bar owner in the British soap Eastenders) role for myself. In preparing for this, not a double entendre goes unentendred and I have purchased some enormous spangly earrings I can’t quite bring myself to wear yet, but I will. But not in daylight – the spangly, spangly glare would burn holes in our good patrons’ retinas. Role-play’s grrrrreat!
We have had my lovely, dear old friends and their unborn baby to stay in their last holiday hurrah before the baby’s born in December.
My sister-in-law also visited which was nice and then she and the ProbHub went on a driving tour of the American West together: Yellowstone, Yosemite etc.
I turned the girls’ playroom into a nice quiet room for reading and music and homework and pyooting, with no telly in it. I’d call it a library ‘cos I lined it with books but I don’t like that for some reason, and so it has become The Quiet Room. I love it. I don’t watch telly much beyond the news and The Daily Show with John Stewart and have been spending many, many, long, happy evenings pootling around in there undisturbed. Much ebaying was done to purchase bookcases and a big sturdy table for the girls to do art on and stuff, and hundreds and hundreds of miles driven to pick them up in avoidance of horrific postage charges.
I paid for a woman to help the girls learn to swim because I thought someone who had done it before would be better than me. We spent an hour every day in an intensive two week course learning to splash and flail but nothing really as coordinated as swimming. Basically, all that was achieved was that the girls no longer have any fear of the water but also, crucially, cannot swim in it. Fear is good! Nofear is badbadbad! The woman kept telling them how well – “Great!” “Brilliant!” – they were doing so now they are convinced they can swim. BUT THEY CAN’T AND THIS IS DANGEROUS!! I have since taught them how to tread water on my own for peace of mind, but i think I should have had a go myself before shelling out for some other random housewife to teach them. Is it normal to teach front-crawl first? All that coordination of breathing to the side, dipping the head under AND arms and legs seems a lot for a first stroke? I learnt treading water then breast-stroke and, although my front crawl is technically and aesthetically rubbish, I was water-safe after a week or so of being taught. How did you learn?
Thanks for the emails, peeps. I’ve been missing all your chat but life’s been a bit unsettling as we all know life is wont to be occasionally. But onward!! I am looking forward to catching up with all your sparky selves. Any hints on becoming a blousy bar matron type with a big mouth but a heart of gold? I’ve already perfected Cockney ferlosofy and patter: “You dahn’t do it to your owwwwwn!” for family values and not sleeping with your relatives’ spouses (see Peggy Mitchell, Christmas episodes 1995-2005 Christmas being apparantly a particularly dangerous time for that); “It’s moy name abahve vat door!” for theories of ownership, agency and territorial marking (pee) (Peggy Mitchell: numerous episodes); “Oi do lahve a good ole Eastend knees-up” and “Oooooh, you are a saucepot! You’ll ‘ave me blahshing in a minute, you will. Ooooh!” for the sociological mores and speech-patterns of the jolly female Walford publican at play. (Angie, Pat, Sharon, Peggy: every episode since 1985).
Now. How about y’all? I’ll be round visiting people later in no particular order except that fatmammycat is first. Fatmammycat is always first, so it was and so it ever shall be. Amen.
First though I need to have another go with my spanglies and find someone real I can drop my aitches at. Perhaps, if I’m lucky they’ll let me practice calling them a Diamond Geezer or a Veri’ubble Duchess.
*Ladies, I think you know what kind of postman I mean: the kind of postman that always rings twice…**
**I have no idea what I mean by that and what’s more nor should you, you hussies!!
September 25th, 2007 at 9:39 pm
Ahh, welcome back.
September 25th, 2007 at 9:50 pm
Ohhhh, I”m chuffed, so I am, chuffed delira and excira! Let us not speak at all of iffys and concentrate on the squiffies, ie a bahhh. How exciting.
Will it have a piano? Will you be Michelle? Not from eastenders mind, but from the Fabulous Baker Boys? Oh, dangly earrings, so Bet Lynch, but where is the leopard print?
I’ll stop now, just…well I’m very glad you’re okay. VELLY!
September 25th, 2007 at 10:01 pm
Nice to see you back, Sam. My tip for tending bar is to keep the lipstick off of your teeth and wear 3/4 sleeve or short sleeves behind the bar. A little cleavage doesn’t hurt as well. The dangly earrings sound fab.
September 25th, 2007 at 10:42 pm
The Mummy Returns! Glad to have you back, Sam.
September 25th, 2007 at 11:21 pm
Oh golly, I totally love rum trifle. I really don’t know why. It’s just so gooey and soggy and tasty. And rummy. Maybe it’s the alcohol content?
Nonetheless, I’m super dooper glad you’re back coz you were so totally missed by me. As in, I missed you. Huzzah for coming back!
And a bar, a bar! Huzzah!
Huzzah!
September 26th, 2007 at 7:17 am
Of all my posts in all my archives you had click on to that one, ah well welcome back. Do ya need some character to tell war stories and collect glasses?
I taught myself how to swim at the leisure centre as I was afriad of deep water (fishermen stay in the boats) now I have nofear which is goodgoodgood.
September 26th, 2007 at 10:46 am
A larrge one, pleez… you see my blog dozent unnerstan me…
Hurray for the return of La Sam! You didn’t see any sign of Kav or Sweary while you were out there in the nethersphere, did you?
September 26th, 2007 at 11:06 am
My last message vanished… vanished I tell you.
I think the general gist of it was welcome back…you are great.
September 26th, 2007 at 11:30 am
Good to see you’re still among the blogging. My Grandparents owned a tavern in South St. Louis. My German grandmother would give you this advice:
Keep a sawed-off pool cue handy. It’s for the Italians. It’s always the Italians.
Also practice saying, “Time, Gentlemen.”
Cheers.
September 26th, 2007 at 2:11 pm
The one day I don’t check I missed your return- thank God for Randall. I’m so exciied ai have to kkep re typooning.I have midded dyou foooooomjuceh. Right I an goine roto calmmeddown now. andjust say abig big hug.
September 26th, 2007 at 3:19 pm
Woohoo! Welcome back, Sam!
One of the easiest ways to swim is back-sculling – you lie on your back, kick your feet and just move your hands back and forth enough so you don’t go under. You can’t see where you’re going, but it doesn’t tire you out so quickly – ideal for emergencies.
Have you thought about putting a web cam in the bar?
September 26th, 2007 at 6:16 pm
I think I spent a lot of time learning to swim by hanging onto the edge and blowing bubbles into the water. Seriously, a LOT of time.
My husband would lloooooove to be a part owner in a bar for the exact same reason. He often wants to invest in my brother’s but, since we don’t live anywhere near him, I really don’t see the point.
September 26th, 2007 at 7:56 pm
I’m jealous. I want a bar. I’ve already got the spangly earrings. And the hussy-factor.
But I’m glad you’re back. I’ve been missing your stories with too many consonants.
September 26th, 2007 at 11:49 pm
Hi Twenty, nice to be back.
Fmc, hmm – Bet Lynch is a whole other direction I hadn’t even thought of. Yes… yes, I can see it now…animal prints and a beehive. I must away to look for baubles, gaily coloured baubles to hang from my ears. Maybe I could be amusing and wear earrings to suit the season – pumpkins for Halloween – rude elves showing their bums for Christmas. It’s a whole new world of earrings to explore and taste is no object!!
Medbh, you sound like a woman in the know. Good advice. With any luck at all though I won’t have to serve any actual drinks. A Brummie bloke will be doing that and there’s a waitress (it’s a wee restaurant too – has to be for the city to approve the license, I’m afraid) and I don’t think we can afford to pay me too. It is quite likely, however, I will become unpaid labour. We might be able to work out some sort of a free gin and long vodka compensatory package I could live with though.
Nanas, ROOOOAAAAR! And smooch!
Carolyn, Are you a Missus yet? You must be! I’ll be over in a bit to learn all.
Knudders, when we expand our empire south and to the shores of Tripoli (sail away, Enya, sail away), which we’ll be doing in about 3 months time if I’m reading the business plan the right way up, we shall be in need of colourful characters such as yourself to manage our Whereeverybodyknowsyername-type chain. By this time next year, we’ll all be rich! Rich! (Burns fiver, immediately regrets it).
Conan, you know, it’s funny but I DID see them. Kav was chasing his wife all around with nothing but his Y-fronts, a cheeky grin and a rolled up DIY manual, shrieking I know where the G-spot is, baby – it’s where the grommet goes! Look I have a grommet right here in my pocket! And I passed Sweary on the road in savaging Celia Ahern with bon mots I wish I’d thought of and a well-sharpened thumb-tack which glistened goldly as she brandished it in the dying light of the day. It was beautiful.
Birchy, baby, how’s you? I’ll be over later to see how your wedding plans are shaping up.
Rand’, where I come from it’s the Welsh. It’s always the Welsh. Publicans must keep a sawn-off leek under the bar just in case they get up to any of their Welsh nonsense – men’s 3 part harmonic singing or such. Big show-offs.
Pat, I say a big hug right backatcha. Oh, what the hell, I say two. C’mere.
Kim, back-sculling eh? I’m sure my granny told me that’s what the ladies who’re no better than they ought to be did with the Norwegian klondyke sailors down at the quay. A web-cam! It had never even occurred to us. I think some of the PWPs Patrons With Pasts might not care for it that much though. I don’t know if we’ll have any PWPs but I hope we do. Just the one would be good to save patrons having rivalries over who’s got the best one. Pasts I mean.
Courtney – that’s what they did! Hung onto the edge and blew bubbles! I could have thrown a scoop of Daz and my washing in and got my whites whiter than white. Were you taught front-crawl first too? How long does it take?
Kara, bet my earrings are hussyer than your’s, baby. And leave my consonants out of this!
September 27th, 2007 at 4:04 am
All my problems are solved now that the Problem is back!
September 27th, 2007 at 11:12 am
welcome back…dahlin. Pint of yer best please.
I’ll have to whip down highway one for a drink!
BTW Learning Front Crawl first is not the way. Usually if kids start in the water early, mine all started at 6 months, they are 5 before the can do the crawl.
September 27th, 2007 at 4:29 pm
Well now. Isn’t that good? Nice to see you again.
——————
Right! Enough of that shit. Back to work!
September 27th, 2007 at 4:56 pm
Aha..She’s back…splendid.
“17 pints of Bulmers and a shandy for maimed boy here”
“Oi..I’m not maimed!”
“Ya will be if you don’t get the next round.”
That’s it! I need some CA time…when’s the Grand Opening? I’ll be there.
September 27th, 2007 at 5:18 pm
so you’re back eh? good.
September 28th, 2007 at 7:17 am
We called it floating and although the boys taught me to swim – after a fashion – I’ve never mastered floating. As soon as the young man with the fine brown frame removed his hand from the small of my back I became a spluttering sinking mess. And I swim in my depth with occasional foot taps on the bottom.
Otherwise like a fish.
September 28th, 2007 at 1:24 pm
So excited for you about buying the bar!! Just don’t become a lush. I have no idea how people who own a bar don’t become alcoholics! And I want a picture of you in a cheap white nylon halter top and lashings of fake tan. Good luck with learning lots of double entendres. And, “I’ll have a lager top and a look under your top too please!”
September 28th, 2007 at 1:27 pm
I learned to swim by treading water. At some point it struck me that what I was doing vertically would work horizontally too, and at that point I realized that I was swimming. My kids learned this way too: one week they were treading water, and the next week they were propelling themselves along.
September 28th, 2007 at 2:29 pm
Hello Sam, caught you from Bock’s place and best of luck with the emporium, gorgeous words. Saw your comment on Bock’s Holocaust posting and it’s bugging me ( in a good way ). I’ve not read Sylvia Plath much, but Lady Lazarus and the language and the imagery and the evil and her revulsion, and your comment reminded me of this, and of whatever it was she was trying to say, and the way she wrapped her revulsion around Holocaust and Nazi imagery. Not sure whether the comment should be here or on Bock’s ?
September 28th, 2007 at 7:23 pm
you’re back. hurrah. wish you owned a bar in outpost, would mean I had somebody to drink with. still, drinking to your success all the same. Memx
September 29th, 2007 at 5:55 am
Learning to swim
1st lesson- attempted to teach self at 3yrs. Recall…looking up through the water at a cloud and blue sky. Bubbles(mine) floating up toward said cloud and sky.
Next memory- hearing my beloved older brother screaming at me, “what are you doing? Get out!” It was somewhat muffled; his voice, and I didn’t understand as I’d been trying to, really I had…so he pulled me up and I proceeded to throw up on him lots of water
Next lesson was worse…Me beloved but foolish Dad, who couldn’t swim but had grown up on a island, tried to teach me traditional technique…needless to say, no one on the island could swim but my uncle- who learned from a foreigner…
3rd- Stepmom (could swim) “Hold on to the side of the pool and kick legs…” Then she had me stand about 2 feet away and she said, “kick your legs and move your hands like a dog would and I’ll catch you” This worked.
September 29th, 2007 at 8:32 pm
good to read you again, Sam, I missed the humor and the thought.
September 30th, 2007 at 12:55 pm
Very pleased you’ve returned. A lady who owns a bar, if you still have all your own teeth (not in a box) you could be the perfect woman.
September 30th, 2007 at 2:36 pm
Lovely to read you again my dear – mwah! mwah! – and what exciting news about the bar. I’m something of an expert in that doman so if you need any advice don’t hesitate. Go Bet Lynch rather than Peggy Mitchell is my advice. You’ll need a barsteward of course. If you can find the gorgeous Norry from Rab C. Nesbitt’s local I’ll be over there quicker than you can say ice and lemon.
September 30th, 2007 at 8:22 pm
Welcome back!
October 1st, 2007 at 8:48 am
Actually – not that I ever watch it -I lie – there are two gorgeous young floozies – Peggy’s nieces I think and the one with the great cheek bones is much more you, and loads of spirit. I’m guessing Samantha Janus. That’s my opinion.
BTW it’s a bit of a Stephen Fry fest at present – he’s 50 and I’ve revised my opinion of him. Previously I was critical when he walked out of my first husband’s cousin’s play. I understood more after the bi-polar prog which did so much good, but after last night’s I’m totally on his side and regard him as a good kind man and a national treasure. Will enlarge later. BTW again I was amused when one of the Belgian girls used the expression embiggen fof enlarge and I thought they were having a laugh but it seems to be used in the States seriously. What a funny lot you are:)
Better get on.
October 1st, 2007 at 3:47 pm
Excuse me Sam- my URL has gone wrong – just adjusting it.
October 1st, 2007 at 3:47 pm
Yay the wummin is back! Fandabbydozy hen!
Mmm as the seventh daughter of seventh publican, well almost, I entreat you to treat those taps with the utmost respect. My poor old pa made a really good attempt at drinking our public house dry all on his own – and he invented all day opening long before it was legal.
October 1st, 2007 at 6:20 pm
Sneezy, one man’s problem is another man’s petunia. I am the bag full of shit that will nourish and grow that petunia.
John, any time you like, toots. We’d be delighted to have you at our humble hostelry. You don’t mind, like, real humbleness do you? Good to know re. the water babies. I thought there was something wrong with her teaching them front crawl first. I’ve decided just to teach them myself, God help them.
Robber Bock, an’ it’s a pleasure to see you, you thieving old galoot you. Now what’s this about work? Can’t I just continue with the shit?
HQ, we’ll be starting with more of a whimper than a bang, i’m afraid. Plus, a limited budget means we will have to make all our changes piecemeal over time. However we will be serving beer and sundries and if there’s one thing sure to please the crowds, it’s a potent, well-mixed sundry. Any time you want, darling. I’d be delighted to see you. I’m still a bit peed off I didn’t make Oirland with you guys this trip just past.
Docsy baby, don’t call me eh. You know how wild it makes me. I can’t be held responsible for myself in the context of eh. I’m far more used to the more guttural “huh” you see, out here in Calerfornya. Remember the havoc the Great Vowel Shift played on the english language? That havoc is my sensibilities.
Pat, hmm – tell me more about the fine brown frame…
Emma baby, with you in the bar alongside me, I bet we could quadruple our entendres with a little work and some sparkling beverages.
Mary, me too! I remember learning that same way. You’d think the first thing to teach children to do in the water would be to keep afloat, right? I can’t believe that after all that time and money, all we learnt was splashing and how to drown without fear.
Hi Sniffle&Cry, thanks for stopping by to say hello. Revulsion is right. I’m well chuffed that you thought my screed at Bock’s on fatty thighs, hate glands and little pricks was Plathian, although I think I was receiving my muse on a different Ariel. Gerrit, Ariel, gerrit? I’ve just scared you off, haven’t I? Gorra stop doing that…
Mem, I too drink to your success in the outback and declare “Success to your drinking!” It would be lovely to share a beer with you and hear all about your life over there. Ah well, next time I’m passing through Africa I’ll pop in for a cold one.
Jer, not being able to swim when you live on an island is the only way to go. Only then do you develop a healthy respect – and by that I mean deep fear – of the sea. The sea is deep, it should be feared. It has toothy things in it too. Hungry toothy things. Oh, I like splashing and swimming in the briny as much as the next person, but it’s as well to be terrified while you’re frolicking. That way you’re prepared when the waves or the sharks swallow you.
Jenpen, hi. Nice to hear from you too. Maybe see you this Christmas? I hope we do.
Paw, there is a school of male thought that favours the toothless female. Dashed if I can remember why………….Oh.
Daphne dahlink! Our barsteward will be the bar manager and he’s a Brummie pretty boy. The ladies love him and, as there is a spa across the way, mainly frequented by vacationing single ladies of a certain age, we hope his exotic Birmingham charms and accent will be a draw.
Hi Brianf! Cheers – nice to see ya again!
Pat, I think the phrase must have first got off the ground when people asked if they could have embiggened fries with that. Sure to be. By the Belgian girls do you mean Aunty M, Daph, Zoe and Honey? Hope your URL is comfy again!
Apprentice, “‘Cos I’m a wummin, W, U, M, M, I, N!” Yeah, baby! And your pa sounds like an innovator in his field. Seventh daughter of a seventh publican, eh? Doesn’t that make you some sort of specially distilled person? A sorceror or a deft genius of a mixologist? We could do with your magic touch.
October 1st, 2007 at 10:11 pm
Good to have you back……
there is an outside chance I may be round your way (Ullapool) at the end of the month. pretty excited but have to wait n see…..
October 1st, 2007 at 11:17 pm
Ah Manuel, would that i were in fair Ullapool and I would meet you for a convivial pint or some. But I’m not. I’m here and, from what I gather, things with the bar are slowly turning into curdled poo.
What’s taking you up to Ullapool?
October 2nd, 2007 at 5:44 am
It’s not often you hear the words exotic and Birmingham in the same sentence. Perhaps you can put him in a kilt and teach him to grrrrrowl in a Hebridean brogue. Somehow I don’t think “Yoorroit lydees?” is going to get the girls foaming at the mouth.