Repeat of Story 379: Beer garden

(This is the eighth and final story in a week or so of repeats. “Beer garden” first appeared on this blog on 24 October 2014. The picture is a detail of a wonderful photograph by Terry Barca. It was what inspired this story. In the photograph, every face could tell a story or two. WARNING: The story contains foul language.)

Yeah, well I’m standing there outside in this pub’s beer garden, and I’ve got a bottle of beer, Haägen I suppose, or something like that because the bottle’s green as far as I remember. And I’m talking to this chick. And she’s really boring.

Then this other guy comes along and starts talking to this chick, and they talk and talk like I’m not there. And I’m stuck with my back to the wall, and they’re in front of me, and there’s no way I can escape. I’m trapped. So I nod and smile like I’m interested (“so I just fed it some crushed cereal” she said), like it’s the biggest fucking deal in the world.

Then he asks if she’s got any other pets, and she said she had a cat but gave it away when it got the goldfish. I take a swig of the Haägen only to find there’s nothing left in the bottle. I say I’m going to get another drink, and it’s like I’m not there, he’s so into her fucking cat.

Eventually I say excuse me and push right past them and go to the bar and get another Haägen. And when I turn round, over at the chick there’s this big hulky bastard smashing a bottle over the head of the boring cat-lover. So I think, fuck this, if we’re going to get entertainment I might as well get a proper drink.

Like a bourbon and coke.

1388. A multifarious conundrum

“Oh what a multifarious conundrum,” said Stephanie to her good friend Juliet.

Juliet did not know what a multifarious conundrum was, so she sort of laughed and said, “Yes! It can get like that.”

“The trouble is,” said Stephanie, “when I go somewhere it’s always the same. The same thing. And it gets tiresome.”

“It certainly does,” said Juliet, not having a clue what Stephanie was talking about.

“A bit of this and a bit of that. All in all, there are so many aspects to consider,” said Stephanie.

“Yes,” agreed Juliet. “Sometimes it’s hard to know if you’re Arthur or Martha.”

“How do you mean?” said Stephanie. “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” said Juliet feeling caught, “it’s sort of like not knowing where to move next, how best to cope with the complexity of the situation.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said Stephanie. “It’s not like that at all for me.”

“Oh well,” said Juliet.

“Oh well is not good enough,” said Stephanie. “I asked for a bit of sympathy and all I get is an ‘Oh well’. I really expected more. Quite frankly, Juliet, I find it disconcerting. I thought you’d be more sympathetic.”

“Oh well,” said Juliet. “I was trying to be helpful.”

“Helpful my foot,” said Stephanie. “I thought you were my friend. I’m off. Call me when you can think straight.”

Stephanie walks off.

“Good,” said the Director. “Let’s run through that again. This time, try to make it less snarky and more smarmy.”

1276. Dinner party chatter

What a delightful dinner party. Hedwig always manages to invite the most interesting guests. Last time there was a couple here from Saudi Arabia. My wife, who’s just left to go to the powder room, speaks fluent Arabic. They gabbled away for half the night in Arabic. Amazing! Of course, my wife is highly intelligent. And highly educated. In fact, as am I.

Emile here speaks and writes fluent Arabic. He learnt it in Djibouti when he was stationed there with the French army.

Oh! Does he? Oh! Of course my wife wouldn’t want to speak it when she returns. That would be rude. Especially since everyone else speaks only English. It would be like showing off. You may not know this, but my wife and I are heavily into horse racing. In fact, we own three race horses, and very successful they have been too. One even won the Melbourne Cup.

That’s amazing. Emile here owns two winning race horses. What did you say the names of your horses were?

Here comes my wife back now. Hello dear. I was just about to explain to this lovely couple here how we grow our own organic vegetables.

1142. The local bore

Guntis was known as a boring man. That’s why a lot of people avoided him. He would set his mouth into drone and corner people with a story for ten minutes or so. Here he comes now. I must move. Oh damn.

Hello. There was this man who went to this old house that used to be owned by some socialite way back in the you-know-when, and the house was really old and full, no doubt, of memories. But this man, I think his name was Peter, went there and it had a small section of it cornered off as some sort of café. So Peter, I’m not 100% sure it was his name, but it’ll do, decided to buy something at the café. So he sat down at a table and the waitress came over and he ordered a cup of tea. And he drank the tea and then he left, but he was pleased he had visited that old home so immersed in history. It’s interesting, isn’t it, all this history? There was also another person there having a cup of tea. Actually, it might have been coffee, I don’t know, but Peter thought he’d seen her before. You never know who or what you might bump into from one day to the next. And she certainly looked familiar, but Peter couldn’t remember where he’d seen her before. It’s a small world, isn’t it? He said that the cup of tea was only averagely good. You’d think for such an historic house they’d do something with a bit of quality. Anyhow, I’ve got to go. It’s been nice talking to you.

Music 108: Ducks in conversation

I am no longer able to keep ducks! I now live in the town – unfortunately.

Listen to the music HERE!

Music 36: Having a cuppa

© Bruce Goodman 10 June 2015

There’s nothing like a nice, comforting cup of tea; with friends, and a pleasant conversation!

Note the matching tea cosy, trivet and proteas!

Listen to the music HERE.

529. Overheard conversation VI

(This the final in this little series of “Overheard conversations”. I’ve just spent a week in a hospital ward – a mixed ward, men and women. It can become tedious, so I jotted down some overheard conversations; some on the phone, some with visitors, some with other patients, some seemingly spoken into thin audienceless air. Slightly edited!)

Before I had the kiddies I always imagined I’d be Conan the Barbarian or something. Going round shooting up everything. The kiddies put a stop to that. Diapers stop everything. We gave Jarrod a gun for Christmas. Everyone said you don’t give boys guns anymore, and we gave Charlotte a doll. Give Jarrod the doll, they said, and Charlotte the gun. But I still think boys are blue and girls are pink, don’t you? I’m sorry, but that’s the way I was brought up. Some people dress them in yellow, but that’s cowardly. It didn’t matter anyway, because Charlotte played with the gun and rode motor bikes and Jarrod played Doctors and Nurses with the doll. He’s left home. We never hear from him now – where he is or what he’s doing. I think he might be in Auckland. He never brought his friends home. He might be married now, for all I know. But surely not. Surely we’d be asked to the wedding. Or he could be living in sin. Wouldn’t that be nice? At least he’d be happy. Living with a girl. A very pretty girl. I hope she’s pretty. They don’t call it living in sin anymore, but, my God, it would be better than anything – but he’s not. He won’t be. Once bitten twice shy. But once bitten and you’re dead, O Lord, you’re dead. Caught! Like a fish in a net. Caught! Caught! You’re trapped. Before I had the kiddies. Before I had the kiddies. Before I had the kiddies. Would you shut up, Barbara. Before I had the kiddies. Shut up, Barbara! Oh, the things I would get up to! Climbing trees, and riding horses. I was a regular Tom Boy. “You’re a regular little Tom Boy”, my grandmother used to say. “A regular little Tom Boy”. Isn’t that funny?

528. Overheard conversation V

(This is the 5th of 6 in this “Overheard conversation” series. I’ve just spent a week in a hospital ward – a mixed ward, men and women. It can become tedious, so I jotted down some overheard conversations; some on the phone, some with visitors, some with other patients, some seemingly spoken into thin audienceless air. Slightly edited!)

Margaret (to visitor #1): You wouldn’t believe what they served us for dinner two nights ago! Fish and chips! That’s fish with batter! Batter! And fried chips! That’s the last thing Lydia over there wants. She’s in here to have a pacemaker put in! Fish and chips in the coronary care unit! Take a good look at Lydia. You’ll never see one like her again. She’s as rare as hen’s teeth. Her heart’s on the wrong side. It only happens in one in millions. Have a good look! And they gave her fish and chips! And Andrew in the corner. He’s in for angioplasty. And they gave him fish and chips! That won’t help his bowel movements. I heard him tell the nurse this morning that had hasn’t had a crap for two days. They’re thinking of giving him a pill so the stool can pass easily. And then there’s…

Margaret (to visitor #2): You wouldn’t believe what they served us for dinner two nights ago! Fish and chips! That’s fish with batter! Batter! And fried chips! That’s the last thing Lydia over there wants. She’s in here to have a pacemaker put in! Fish and chips in the coronary care unit! Take a good look at Lydia. You’ll never see one like her again. She’s as rare as hen’s teeth. Her heart’s on the wrong side. It only happens in one in millions. Have a good look! And they gave her fish and chips! And Andrew in the corner. He’s in for angioplasty. And they gave him fish and chips! That won’t help his bowel movements. I heard him tell the nurse this morning that had hasn’t had a crap for two days. They’re thinking of giving him a pill so the stool can pass easily. And then there’s…

Margaret (to visitor #3): You wouldn’t believe what they served us for dinner two nights ago! Fish and chips! That’s fish with batter! Batter! And fried chips! That’s the last thing Lydia over there wants. She’s in here to have a pacemaker put in! Fish and chips in the coronary care unit! Take a good look at Lydia. You’ll never see one like her again. She’s as rare as hen’s teeth. Her heart’s on the wrong side. It only happens in one in millions. Have a good look! And they gave her fish and chips! And Andrew in the corner. He’s in for angioplasty. And they gave him fish and chips! That won’t help his bowel movements. I heard him tell the nurse this morning that had hasn’t had a crap for two days. They’re thinking of giving him a pill so the stool can pass easily. And then there’s…

Margaret (to visitor #4): You wouldn’t believe what they served us…

527. Overheard conversation IV

(This is the 4th of 6 in this “Overheard conversation” series. I’ve just spent a week in a hospital ward – a mixed ward, men and women. It can become tedious, so I jotted down some overheard conversations; some on the phone, some with visitors, some with other patients, some seemingly spoken into thin audienceless air. Slightly edited!)

When I first got married – well when I was married for the first time – it was to – no – not married – just engaged – to a Territorial – yeah – no – he wasn’t a Territorial – I think he was in the army – it doesn’t matter – he’d come home on leave – and – in between I’d spend my time driving up and down the road looking for young men hitch-hiking in army shirts so that I could pick them up. “Do you perhaps know him?” I’d ask. “I just happen to be going where you’re going”. God knows how much money I spent, driving all over the country. Oh to be young again.

My second husband was a bit of a pansy. I don’t know why we ever married. He used to cook. There’s nothing more sexy than a man who cooks. But if you’re a man who cooks you have to be macho. He wasn’t macho at all – he was a pansy. He used to do things like boil potatoes. Anyone can boil potatoes. A real man does shrimp cocktails and garlic bread. No, no. Not my Arnold. He’d usually end up having to mash the spuds anyway. Over done. Over boiled.

526. Overheard conversation III

(I’ve just spent a week in a hospital ward – a mixed ward, men and women. It can become tedious, so I jotted down some overheard conversations; some on the phone, some with visitors, some with other patients. Slightly edited!)

Yes! These potatoes ARE new – of course – even though it’s past the season for new potatoes. I like them cooked with just a little mint. A quick scrub and into the pot. That’s it. That’s all. And asparagus. Just a light boil and then butter. These asparaguses here must be out of a tin. It’s not the season. Or imported. I don’t know what the hospital is doing spending all that money buying imported vegetables. Vegies are very reasonable at New World. The meat’s sometimes a bit tough, but… well, I’m sorry…

How do you think I felt? Cold, she said. Have it cold… That’s Marjorie… That’s Marjorie… Well I can’t help it. If you think I’m going to go to her place after all I’ve been through. If that’s the way you want it you can take the pickup and go. I’ll keep the kids. They can get to school on the bus. I’ll manage. I’ll manage all on my own as I have in the past. Don’t go making a big thing of it. The faults all on my side, oh yes, all on my side, it’s always on my side, whenever you’re not pleased, it’s all on my side, my side of the family, my relations, not yours, oh no not your relations, next thing you’ll be related to the Duchess of Cambridge.