The Drinking habits of the Regular

The Drinking habits of the Regular

photo and short bio credit to W J Carlin Strabane Co Tyrone

Jack, the Regular, skirted skillfully around the bar stool and gratefully climbed aboard. The air escaping from the red leather seat sighed its welcome. Gingerly, with shaking legs he search around and wound his trembling limbs around its familiar stool allowing his tense body to slump into its familiar relaxed position…

Tuned in to his every movement; every twitch and facial expression, Angie, the barmaid surreptitiously watched his ascent. There was no need to ask him what his poison was. It never varied – A cool pint, followed by a Jim Bean chaser. Not yet, she cautioned silently. No sudden movements or unexpected sounds. Timing was everything, on the morning after the night before. Walking quietly on the soft soled shoes she keep in reserve for morning such as these she moved back into the dimness of the space between the pumps. She knew that his short legs had located the bars below the tubular stool when he stopped moving and fidgeting. It was a pivotal moment. Once secured it would act as an anchor as the day progressed. She sighed in relief as Jack, firmly ensconced, swung his portly stomach in a slight arc and leaned back into his comfort zone

Making eye contact with him she waited for his almost imperceptible nod of the head. The pump made a soft swoosh as it filled the gleaming glass Angie had been polishing in anticipation of Jack’s success ascent. Ceremoniously wiping the square of bar directly in front of Jack, she placed a fresh beer mat before careful placing down the beer as careful as if she was proffering a bottle of best vintage champagne.

His goal achieved, Jack took in the familiar surroundings. He saw to his satisfaction that the other regulars where seated in their favourite stools. Jim, on the next stool was strategically poised to make the first strike of the day. Gripping his stool firmly he clenched it firmly between his buttocks and balanced his body. Then, hands on his knees he carefully leaned forward. Reverently, he places his full wet lips around the pint and licked its glistering froth. Then, panting slightly, he lets the cool draught beer slide over his palette and down his throat.

Two stools down Jack observed that Colin, the newest regular, had his hands placed flat on the bar. In one fluid movement he places both hands around his pint. Then, like aman used to taking control, he raises the brimming glass off the safety of the bar. Swiftly, he downs the pint in one goes and motions to Angie for the same again

Jack sensed the silent applauses – and something else. an unspoken challenge. Biceps clenched, he prepared his strategy. Graceful as a ballerina, he extended his forearm, fingers splayed for maximum support. Soft as a caress he slid his hand around the golden glass and prepares to conquer Colin’s flamboyant display of bravado. For a few seconds he savoured the feel of the glass in his hand and the pleasure he know waited within. He admired the glistening air bubbles that beckoned to him causing him to salivated with the pure pleasure of what awaits him

Angie gives him a comforting nod of encouragement and then moved back to allow him the space to make his play to outwit the newcomer. Jack gazed at Angie with something akin to devotion. She was the one stable person in his daily life. She was his high priestess. .

He ran his tongue over his dry lips and composes himself. It was now or never. He could feel the tension rising, feel the thrill of victory. And then the unthinkable happened!! Last night’s drinking decided to make a cameo appearance. A cold finger of fear trailed down his back. He needed to go to the toilet and it couldn’t wait… The bar stool wobbled. He clenched is buttocks tight together.

Angie stopped polishing the glass she was holding. A small electrifying silence slid over the assembled punters like a dark cloud coming over the sun on a summer’s day.

Jack valiantly fought for control. He squeezed his legs even tighter together and sank deeper into the bar stool. The feeling grew stronger. Like a condemned man he threw an imploring plea at his beloved pint begging it to stay frothy and proud and wait for his return. But already its beautiful frothy head with its promise of untold pleasure was already receding: The froth beginning to paint a beleaguered bedraggled line around the rim of the glass. As he watched, the sparkling bubbles evaporated before his very eyes. His pint was dying and he was incapable of saving it. A low lamented sound escapes him.

The other regulars hunched their backs and stared fixedly into the deep abyss of their beer glasses. Jack’s pleading looks for support, for understanding went unanswered.

Sliding from his place of safety on the bar stool he moved past the hunched silent accusing row of back’s He felt, let down, forsaken, abandoned. Men he had counted as his friends let him pass. He breathed in their disappointment. He had let them down. He has broken the golden rule. He had let the newcomer win the day. Worse still, he had let his pint die.

Without remembering how he had got there he found himself outside in the bright light of the day. He jumped in fright as a bus rumbled past and a woman pushing a huge baby in a buggy almost ran him down. His heart drummed in his chest. Sweat stood out on his forehead. He felt like he was having a heart attack. He hadn’t been outside in daylight, sober, at this time of day for long, long time. He felt like a ghost floating above the ground. He longed for the safety of his bar stool and Angie understands smile.

He wasn’t sure if he had moved or not but a steady stream of people seem to be heading in through a door on the other side of the moving buses. His heart settled to a steady thump, thump. Vaguely he wondered where were they all were going. It must be a pub? Where else would all those men and women be going at this time of day? Had Scubbie Mc Cosker open a new bar?? ? He turned his head and looked down the Back Street towards Abercorn Square and the Pagoda. Then he shifted his gaze to the left and where once he knew the Town Hall clock used to be. In the dim recesses of his fuddled brain he remembered there had been a bomb in 1972 that had left the Town Hall a crumbling heap of rubble. He drew his brows together. What year was it now?

He couldn’t remember how many years had passed since then. Angie knew all that kind of stuff. She made all his important decisions for him too. She even organised for the dinner to be brought into the pub. When his eyes blurred over and his pockets were empty Angie organise a lift home for him and told the driver where he lived. Fear assailed him. His feet felt rooted to the spot. He didn’t know his own address or where he lived anymore.

If only he could get his eyes to focus in the bright daylight he might attempt to cross over the street. And see where all those people were going. The street seemed so wide and dangerous. When did the streets become so crowded and busy? He staggered blindly off the footpath and into the line of speeding traffic. Lights flashed, brakes screeched and drivers cursed him to hell fire

Somehow, he found to his relief he had made it to the other side. He checked his arms and legs. Everything seemed to be there and working as far as he could tell. He leaned against the door he thought he had seen the people going in. It opened easily under his weight. Inside was dim and cool. He sighed with relief and slowly clutching the rail that ran parallel with the wall he began to climb the stairs that opened out in front of him like the stairway to Heaven. It seemed to go on forever “It’s a rare place to have a pub,” he grumbled. He’d have to mind to watch his step on the way down again when he’d had a few too many.

Finally, out of breath, he reached the top of the stairs and heard the faint murmur of talking and laughing. Through a frosted glass door he saw movement. Heaving a sigh of relief he pushed open the door and stumbling forward he found a seat and sank gratefully into it.

When his eyes adjusted to the semi gloom he found himself at the end of a row of men and woman sitting in a semi-circle. Where was the bar? Then, first one person, then another and another stuck out their hand and welcomed him. Perplexed he wondered if they were all so friendly why nobody offered him a drink. Then, to his huge relief he spotted Angie at the far end of the row. He stuck up his thumb to her before settled back in his seat. Everything would be alright now. Angie would see him right.

Slowly, he began to recognize other regulars. Some he hadn’t seen for a long time. But they looked different now. He shook his head from side to side. If he had only had a drink he knew he could begin to make sense of it all. He sensed a wave of movement in the room. Anticipation made him breathless. The bar must be about to open, he thought as he saw Angie moved from her seat and walked into the centre of the group.

This is more like it; Jack smiled rubbing his hands together. He had made new friends already and Angie, my saviour, is here, thought. He sighed in exasperation. What was she doing opening a book? When did she start to read to the punters?

“Welcome to our first meeting of Alcoholic Anonymous in our new venue. Our Aim is to stay sober one day at a time. Welcome Jack,” she said smiling down into his bewildered sobering eyes.

Gemma Hill ©