A Real-Life Character ...

Have you ever watched something on TV or read a book where there's a character that makes you think "Nobody's like that!", a character so over the top that they're more of a caricature of a person than the real thing?

I've thought it hundred's of times, especially when I've been reading something like Dickens who crammed all his books with the most wonderful, full-blooded characters ever dreamed of.

The really cool thing is that actually there ARE people like that out there in the real world. They're rare, but they're out there, just waiting to be discovered and enjoyed. They're not always pleasant characters. but they're larger than life and unforgettable.

The "ladies wot lunch" were lucky enough to encounter one of these "characters" this afternoon.

There's a pub down by the waterside in town that we'd all heard of but on discussion realised not one of us had actually been inside. One of my friends mentioned that she'd heard it was also known to be a hangout for singles and so with our curiosity hooked (and since our regular haunt was packed with elderly tourists) we decided that it was the perfect time to explore. And off we tottered.

Have you seen that film "American Werewolf in London"? If you have ... think of the little Yorkshire pub the two American guys go into just before they're attacked on the moors ... that'll give you some idea of what it was like inside. If you HAVEN'T seen that film (why haven't you seen it??? It's awesome! Go buy/rent it now!) then imagine a cross between the Woolpack and Tubbs' shop ("This is a local shop!") from League of Gentlemen ... the kind of place that is dimly lit and smells funny and has the sign of the beast on the wall.

We couldn't see any gorgeous single men, we couldn't see anybody at all other than the 3 old codgers sitting by the fireplace who looked like they'd been sitting there so long they should have had cobwebs on them, and who all stopped talking and looked at us suspiciously when we walked in.

We all looked at each other, trying not to laugh, silently asking if a speedy u-turn out the door was in order, but before a decision could be made we heard "Good afternoon, ladies!".

It was the landlord. He looked a bit like that old caretaker bloke in the Harry Potter films, (you know, the bitter old squib with the manky looking cat that grasses on the students?) and he was standing behind the bar polishing glasses that looked like they hadn't been used in centuries. "What can I get you?"

We all shuffled nervously on our heels a bit and looked at each other again, "Oh God!" hissed friend #1, "We're going to have to stay now, let's just have one drink and then we can get the hell out of here!". So we went and sat at the bar, uncomfortably aware of the codgers watching us and the landlord looking us over in a rather unappealing way.

Before we'd even ordered drinks he launched into a speech that clearly was a well-used one:

"Right! Now I'll tell you what I tell everyone what comes in this pub ... this is a NICE pub, a RESPECTABLE pub ... and that's how it's gonna stay. I don't have no scumbags in here, anyone looking for trouble will find it if they mess with me ... and then they find the door with my boot up their arse. Ladies are safe here ... and I mean LADIES not TARTS ... I can see you're not tarts because of the way you're dressed, you haven't got your tits on display (friend #1 looked a bit disappointed and down at her chest, clearly wishing she'd put the other top on) and you're not wearing too much make-up. If I see a tart come in here I soon tell them to piss off. But not you, you're welcome, I can see you're nice girls. And you don't need to worry, you're safe in MY pub ... put your drinks down, go to the ladies ... you won't get your drinks spiked in MY pub! No funny business. No disrespecting the regulars (cue smugly grinning codgers) and we'll get on fine. Now! You know the rules, we all know where we stand ... what are you drinking? Oh! And that's another thing ... I don't sell beer or whisky to women ... if you're the sort of woman who drinks beer or whiskey then you're a tart and you're looking for trouble and you can go find it in some other pub ... you ain't gonna get beer or whisky in MY pub!"

There was a stunned pause as we struggled to take all this in, "Is he serious?" whispered friend #2 as friend #1 started humming the "Twilight Zone" theme.

We played it safe and ordered white wine which seemed to meet his approval. Friend #2 suggested we go and sit down somewhere (away from the bar and him) but before we could answer ... "I'll tell you where to sit" we were informed.

At this point friend #3 excused herself to the bathroom, clearly about to have a serious fit of the giggles, ("leave your drink here" came the order, barked at her in the best drill sergeant style, "like I said, there's no drink-spiking in MY pub" to which friend #1 muttered "Chance would be a fine thing!").

Friend #2, ever-polite and kind-hearted (i.e. stupid) asked where we should sit, ("about a mile down the road?" I suggested under my breath) which won a gleaming if somewhat toothless smile "Sit upstairs" he said "this way".

Off we dutifully trooped, up the most dangerous set of stairs we'd ever seen which weren't secured to anything but seemed suspended by some very flimsy looking bicycle chains which caused it to rock in the most alarming way as soon as you stepped foot on them.

Upstairs there was a sprawling, open-plan seating area with tables and chairs; boat memorabilia adorned the yellowing walls and the ceiling had been decked with what appeared to be fake grapevines. "Best view in town up here" we were told proudly as he switched on some lights, and indeed it was. Overlooking the river with the gulls swooping low and a few boats sailing idly down it, it was picture postcard material, as we all hastened to tell him, mostly afraid of what might happen if we didn't. We later agreed that on a warm summer's night with someone special it could actually be quite a romantic setting ... but we were just a group of girls looking to relax and have a laugh on a rather overcast and chilly lunchtime, without coats, in a large room that had all the charm and temperature of a clapped out old refrigerator.

At this point friend #3 rejoined us having figured out from our distant voices that we hadn't done a bunk and deserted her as she'd first feared but merely gone upstairs (she told us later that she'd asked the codgers where we'd gone and they'd just stared at her, slack-jawed).

"Nice view" she said "bit bloody cold though, isn't it?". We stared at her in horror and waited nervously for our hosts reaction to this criticism. He seemed to weigh this up, looking at her through slightly squinting eyes that even Clint Eastwood would have been proud of, "It really IS a lovely view" said the ever diplomatic friend #2, which had the desired effect, the suspicious squint disappeared and with a slightly defensive shrug of his shoulders he thanked her. However, friend #3's slight on his precious pub clearly hadn't been forgotten for he soon looked back at her and said "I never turn the heating on up here, nobody's complained before". I swiftly kicked her under the table and gave her a meaningful glare. We could all see her calculating the potential entertainment value of winding him up further but three pairs of pleading eyes made her smile and graciously apologise to him instead, which frankly he was the only one fooled by.

Fooled he was though and with feathers unruffled he told us that it was too expensive to heat such a large, open area, which we made all the required sympathetic noises to, "and personally I don't feel the cold" he added "I'm a hot body" and I could see friend #1 shaking her head and mouthing "He SO isn't!". He then told us how he always felt burning hot, even on the coldest day and couldn't bear to wear coats or jumpers, "Summer or Winter, I only ever have a thin sheet over me at night" he added, "and do you know, every morning I wake up and the sheets are soaked! Soaked through they are! There's a me-shaped stain on the mattress!"

Frankly, this was more than any of us could bear. I've never seen four women down a glass of wine as fast as we did. Making our excuses (we had imaginary friends to meet) we left post haste. Even as we were rushing out the door we could hear him shouting his thanks, telling us to come back soon and that ladies were always safe in HIS pub.

I think we did well, getting 10 yards down the road before collapsing with hysterics.

I just really hope he didn't see us, because if he did he probably thinks we're beer-drinking tarts now.



Ps: I got my prize from Diane on Tuesday :D ... it was pretty damned awesome! Chock-full of goodies! I'll be blogging about it just as soon as I find my stupid camera dl cable.