Ghosts in the lines
Hello,
[Matt Berry voice] UK pubs are known for being infested with all kinds of ghoulies. Persistent, pernicious and per-fucking-spicuous, these horrid spectres will come right up to at the bar and ask for a pint of Stella, even though you’ve never bloody sold that. And then there’s the actual ghosts, of course.
I’ve had a career dotted with hauntological references. From being pissed off at the whole concept at university, to sort of conceding it had a point about specific South London dubstep, to a latter day obsession with terrible ghost hunting shows, it’s fairly wall-to-wall ghouls here.
So, too, in my pub. Here is a list of the ghosts.
The coolers
Switch them off, they clank. Switch them on, they clank. They must also be cooling the beer but whatever method of refridgeration is being employed sure does involve an industrial mining operation’s worth of clanking around. If I forget to turn them off at night I can quite often get into bed, two entire floors up and think “ah piss, that’s clanking.” Not loud enough to be in the room with you but audible enough that once you’ve noticed it there’s absolutely no chance of going to sleep. Probably all coolers clank, especially the pipes connected to them when they’re changing temperature but it’s just I’m very aware of mine.The stairs
Because of the non-euclidian geometry of my pub there are a few bits that don’t entirely connect properly and one of them is the stairs up to the flat, that are both nowhere near the biggest bar and immediately above it. When it’s been busy the big bar gets very hot, with the temperature dropping sharply as soon as people leave and aren’t all over the place breathing and being warm and things. What that means is that about half an hour after closing on a Sunday it sounds like someone’s running up and down the stairs. Then about an hour later, once everyone’s really left, like they’re sneaking up and down them, which isn’t unnerving at all.The Cruzcampo line
Stop fobbing and spitting you little bastard.The spirits store
If I’m objective about it, I don’t know why there’s another door at the end of the spirits store room, to another, smaller room. Or why that door has what looks very like a cell door, eye-height slot in it. I guess there’s some things we’ll just never know because I’m determined not to find out.The glass racks
Sometimes glasses just commit suicide off these for no obvious reason, even if they’re tucked well away. Probably it’s something to do with customers jiggling their legs against the bar or something but I was still pretty sad when the wine glass I really liked decided it’d had enough of being used for not especially nice pinot grigio the other day.The cat
Oh I see, WE are cleaning the lines. Obviously, what I need is someone tripping me up, otherwise how on earth would I get this done, eh?Demon in the bedroom
Fine but should be paying rent.Sudden wave of sadness while having a late night ciggie in the empty beer garden
This summer my goal is to get people using my huge, beautiful beer garden that never has anyone in it. In the meantime it’s sometimes the spot that the sort of tired sadness that can really take you down gets a chance to strike.The jukebox
I live in fear that a customer with the app will put on Penny Arcade at 3am and not so much scare the living daylights out of me but drive me to some sort of violence.The one TV that changes its own channels and inputs and switches itself off sometimes
In its defence, if I was used to watch horse racing seven days a week I would probably act out in protest, too. I actually think this is somehow related to the Amazon lockers or something in the car park next to the pub because it’ll do it again and again in the space of 15 minutes and then not at all for days. Definitely in the pernicious category.Lesbian Dave
So called to differentiate him from Gay Dave. The spirit of the pub, as well as structurally important. Building gets on a wonk if he’s not in one of the armchairs shouting “come on number 5” at nothing in particular.My 18 different flavoured gins
That’s more than a Wetherspoons who bought all this I’m never going to shift it they will haunt me forever. Especially the lemon sherbet one I accidentally splashed in my eye while I was trying to reckon whether it was safe to classify as anything other than a fire risk.The pub manager about 10 years ago who apparently had the place packed
No, yes, I have heard how it used to be. Yes, I am trying to get it back to more that way. Yeah, I do know about how it was so rammed you couldn’t get through the doors. No, it’s not been like that for a long time. Yes, I will try. Yes, I agree, live music will help but I can’t spend a lot on it right out the door. No, I know a pub quiz isn’t the same. Oh is that someone I need to serve, I’ll be back in just a minute. No, it’s very interesting, I promise, just got to go and check something…Me
For someone pretty big who wears massive fuck-off boots all the time and I wouldn’t say is particularly delicate about how I tread, apparently I move around the pub near-silently and scare the hell out of people regularly. Did get fully validated for my steel toe caps when a particularly large Newfoundland dog sat on my foot earlier, though. (I’m worried I’ll drop a keg on my toes, which is a pretty rational concern)The song Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton
One regular will sometimes put this on several times in an hour. I’d never heard it before I came here and I’ve now heard it so many times it’s almost white noise to me. It’s not a particularly objectionable song, as they go but it’s also not obvious what the appeal of constantly listening to it is. As someone with the sort of autism where I listen to one song for several months at a time, though, maybe it wouldn’t be best-placed for me to judge.Back with something sensible about the Guinness crisis later in the week.
Hazel
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