Bring
Out Your Dead
By
Dominic Horton
How
is the world? Is it alright? I haven't been out in it for a while as
I have been struck down and I am bed bound. The world might have
disappeared completely for all I know, with my Codger Mansions home
standing alone as the only sign of its existence. Having a nasty
ailment is enough to make you ill. All the inactivity, television
watching and lack of stimulation is tiresome. I haven't even been
able to have a drink for well over a week and I have not been to the
Flagon & Gorses for even longer. I am surprised that they haven't
sent out a search party or listed me as a missing person on Police
Five. That said all of the regular inmates up there will be
too busy getting p*ssed to spare any time and effort to search for
me. One must get one's priorities right in life after all.
 |
Revellers having a good time despite the fact that they
have got the Black Death - a good effort.
|
Lying
in bed for the last few days, being quite unwell, with a wide variety
of odd symptoms - including mouth ulcers, swollen gums, swollen
glands, sharp headaches and disjointed thoughts (no change there
then) – all sorts of wild possibilities went through my mind:
glandular fever, irreversible gum disease, yellow fever, scarlet
fever, cup fever, purple f*cking fever, whatever …...... even the
dreaded Bengal Lancer. Once the weekend was out of the way things had
not improved one jot so it was off to the doctor on Monday morning
after the Herculean effort of getting out of bed and dressed etc.
The doctor was quick to reach a diagnosis: “You've got the 'flu.”
Typical.
I was due to have my 'flu jab on Saturday but had to cancel due to
the illness. “The 'flu? But I haven't had a runny nose or a sore
throat doctor, neither have I had a cough.” “It doesn't matter Mr
Horton, you still have the 'flu. Go to bed, drink plenty of water and
have some paracetamol.” After waiting to see the doctor for over an
hour he had dispatched me within a few seconds like a short
ball through the covers. I didn't think anyone got the actual 'flu
anymore, not since the 'flu jab became widely available. I thought
that the 'flu was now as rare as contracting the black death, which
is another illness that I suspected I might have before I sought
counsel from the doctor. A touch of the bubonic would be a complete
and utter disaster because if The Pirate found out he wouldn't let me
into the Flagon & Gorses.
I
don't think anything noteworthy has happened at the Flagon while I've
been in absentia but it may not be a bad thing that
I am temporarily divorced from
the warm and welcoming clutches of my second home. It is the worst
kept secret since it was revealed that Rock Hudson was gay that
The Pirate has shook hands with a buyer to sell the pub and if my
sources are correct – which is unlikely – the sale is due
to complete any week soon, once formalities are finalised. So putting
a bit of distance between me and the establishment
(metaphorically speaking, as I only live half a mile down the
road) could be beneficial as it will leave me less mournful once the
inevitable happens.
 |
| A Bengal Lancer, by request of Toby In-Tents. |
I
haven't seen The Pirate properly in quite a while, not by design, but
I have generally not frequented the pub as much recently and when I
do it is normally later in the evening, when The Pirate tends to be
upstairs in his quarters. I've had a a tin of Polish sardines for him
for at least 3 weeks and if I don't see him soon I will probably eat
them myself, which is something I might regret.
The
silver lining to the cloud of the Flagon's sale is that it will
remain as a pub and a real ale pub to boot. But no one knows the
finer details of what the buyer plans to do with the place and
whether he will shut the pub for refurbishment or he will keep it
open. If it is the former there will be a lot of refugees wondering
around Halesowen looking for shelter and some of the more
institutionalised pub inmates won't know what to do with themselves.
Dudley Metropolitan Borough Council will have to call in
the UN to set up emergency real ale tents where Flagoners
can sit supping bitter, wrapped in silver blankets, eating freeze
dried scratchings from special CAMRA ration packs.
Many
drinkers will easily be re-homed by other drinking
establishments because some pub goes are fickle and see no further
than the price of a pint and have no time for the bonhomie or romance
of a pub. Many others, who have made a sport of moaning about The
Flagon, will miss the way it was when the place finally changes
hands. They will have a new regime to moan about and they will look
at the way the Waggon used to be through highly polished rose tinted
spectacles.
 |
| Shaw Taylor on Police 5 |
But
for the most institutionalised player in the game it will truly be
what pop psychologists call “a life changing event.” At this time
I do not know what will become of The Pirate, where he will end up or
what his plans are, whether he will retire disgracefully, go back
into business, continue to loiter around the West Midlands or make
the pilgrimage back to Hampshire, where he is from. The Flagon &
Gorses has been The Pirate's life for well over a quarter of a
century, so whatever he ends up doing it will be a complete sea
change. It is one thing to work in the same place for over twenty
five years but to work there, live there, run the business, that is
another. Let us hope that The Pirate doesn't end up like Brooks
Hatlen in The Shawshank Redemption.
It
is not clear at present whether any of Chilli Willy, Carla Von
Trowel, Clawdia, Toni Tulips, Chloe Tulips,
Donny Darkeye and the rest of the staff will be re-employed by
the new owners but it could be unlikely. They are cherished fixtures
and fittings of the place and I only hope that they are included in
the sale inventory, if they want to carry on working at the place
that is.
But
there is no point being sentimental about these things. Life moves
on, things change, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. At least
The Flagon is not being turned into a Dixy Chicken or the like, with
The Pirate and Chilli Willy flipping burgers for the minimum wage.
That would take the biscuit, or the chicken drumstick to be precise.
 |
Chloe Tulips & Toni Tulips behind the bar in
the Flagon & Gorses.
|
Though
things are sure to be different, The Flagon will still be a pub and I
suppose for that we should all be thankful. If the place was to cease
to be a public house then Flagoners would disperse to various
drinking holes far and wide and our little community would be lost,
which would be a crying shame. One of the beauties of popping into
the Flagon is not so much seeing one's regular cronies but bumping
into a familiar face that you haven't seen for a while and having a
pleasant time. In many ways the epitome of this for me is hazarding
across Dick the Hook, who is always unfailingly jocular
and frivolous pub company in whose presence it is almost
impossible to be miserable – the tonic of laughter and
companionship is the very reason why we go to the pub in the first
place.
People
are being urged to go sober for October to raise money for
Macmillian. I do not understand why people are being encouraged to
abstain completely as it is a well known fact that on average
moderate drinkers live longer than teetotalers. I know that the
phrase Drink Moderately for October is not as catchy
as Go Sober for October but the health of people
should be valued more than a natty slogan. Anyway, due to my illness
I have by default been virtually sober for October. If we want to
raise money for charity before The Flagon changes hands we should
avoid the world's biggest coffee morning but wholeheartedly support
the world's biggest p*ss up.
©
Dominic Horton, October 2015.
*
Lowlife is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall
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