The old codger sat at the end of the bar by himself enjoying what appeared to be a cigarette. But that particular favor was merely a gesture of the hand and in the reciprocal look in his eyes that were burning a hole into the wall next to the bar through to some past well-recollected thought. He sat there for a long while quite content in an odd way. Not begging any attention from any of the others in the place. His age being visibly significant for even this crowd made it possible for one of the younger members of the casual midweek set less cautious enough to push his doorbell by sitting next to the old chap. Many moments of silence transpired between the two. Though it was evident to both that the curiosity of the younger hipster would eventually bring some sort of reaction from his elder. A certain tension slowly built up though the only visible sign came in the form of mutual indifference. After a while the old gentleman turned slightly to starboard and in a quiet voice versed, “You’re not with John Law, are ya?” As to whether this was a serious enquiry, this was answered after a moments pause by a wide toothed grin by the old ‘bodger’. The young fellow’s conflicted attitude a lapse to the inconsequential in the regard of the context of the question. “You know son, many a lad like yourself when I was having my Tufnell park about the Ringo Starr in me Liz Hurley days who was taken a risk of a natter with a bloke always went about their Frank and Pat without a pot o’ glue!“, said the old fellow smiling as he totally confounded his would be companion.
“I don’t understand?“, said the younger of the two completely confounded. “No you wouldn’t now would you mate!” “Not as you and I are not from the same park. Speak’in to Glasgow Rangers from a field of wheat other than your own, ya never knows the reels of cotton blokes one is likely to encounter?” “True enough, whatever you said?”, the young man replied with a slightly quizzical expression. “Well, you’ve got you Butcher’s look at an old Cockney lad!“, the old man said looking the youth straight in the eye. “So what’s your Glen Cambell with this Bacardi Breezer?” The young man smiled without earnestness. “It’s a bit Kym Marsh to tick tock on another’s fore and aft when he’s out for a ball of chalk on his own?” At that point the young man skittered back his chair on the floorboards and after a glance back towards the old geezer began trailing off into the shadows. A firm hand shot out and grabbed firmly along the elbow of his arm. “Wait!“, rang out the other voice. “If you are keen for a story then I’ll tell you one.” Half off the bar stool the youth sheepishly climbed back up. “I’m sure a game lad like yourself has plucked a Gooseberry pudding or two.” “Maybe stuck some new life into your bread knife?” “You may know as well as any how a Misses can run your Chinese blind?” “Keep you Chicken Oriental round like Johnny Horner without any Piccadilly Percy!” “That’s a woman for ya alright!, he continued looking off in the direction of the empty wall minding its far off pasture like some old shepard of old memories. “Keeping ya in a Robinson and Cleaver all bleed’in sweaty and sich through the blooming night!” “So you’re telling me about someone that your stuck on?“, the old man’s singular audience replied. “That’s right son!“, his senior replied with another far away glance in that same former direction of nowhere. “Not just any, of course!“, he went on, “But that one that keeps you Brighton Sands all David Blaine for a nightly squeeze!” The old guy pondered the confusion in the young man’s eyes. “That sort of Jack Palance might send you off your lump of lead and who gives a Henry Neville? “But this sort of Newgate gaol goes on after many Forsythe saga’s try’in to figure those West Ham reserves from just another shovel and pick!” “Am I mak’in any sense to ya my son?”, said the gray hair somewhat winded by his exclamations. “No!“, came back the younger’s curt reply. And with that off the young man went skittering to the far side of that darkened paradise to join some other fellows. “Well then!“, said the old man first looking down at the bar’s edge and then back up to his former bygone vista that still waited patiently at the far corner of his mind’s eye by the bar’s side. “You’ll learn!“