Thursday, April 05, 2007

Warning: May contain traces of nutter

Over the years my local pub has seen it's share of excitement. It's well known for attracting some of the more 'mentally unsure' folk from the locale*, but on the whole they've been mostly harmless. Disturbing on occasion yes, such as the chap who wears a hat lined with tinfoil and only talks to bar staff and his friends who no-one else can see, and when I say 'talks' I mean 'shouts at'.
Having a famous Looney Tunes Establishment just down the road and the introduction of 'Care in the Community' brings droves of visitors with blank stares and shuffling gaits to the place. Usually they are with 'carers', but every now and then one will slip through the net alone and sit next to you to regale you with stories about their pet brick of an evening. Bless.
But sometimes, even I worry about the sort of folk that drink in my pub.
A couple of days ago, the ex-partner-in-crime invited me for a drinky before dinner, so not wanting to appear rude I accepted. I got to the pub just as he was ordering the drinks, and upon spying an empty table, got my wine and dashed over to save it. As I crossed the bar a chap hallo'ed me, and as that's not an uncommon thing to happen, I waved back and said 'Hi'.
Bad move.
Next I knew, he'd come over and sat next to me. I racked my brain trying to think who he was, but nothing came up. He began talking to me as if he knew me, and when the EPIC joined me, I tried reading his face for signs of recognition, but there were none.
The bloke started talking about his last girlfriend and rambled on about a time when she shouted at him because he served her soggy chips, and then went on to the subject of food. Some things he said were amusing, such as the time he tried eating goat, but found it difficult as the animal was still alive at the time, but then he began to waffle on about how much he wanted a girlfriend again. The ex suddenly remembered we had to go and do something important then, and finishing our drinks we hoofed it away into the night, leaving him talking to a lamp.
But yesterday, he was there again, and this time it seemed he hadn't been taking the medikashun.
My heart sank as upon entering the pub, I saw him standing at the bar. I mugged the ex for drink money, and bracing myself for another anecdote about chips/goat eating/random bricks, I went to the bar.
This time I was treated to a rant about how much he missed having sex. 'T'riffic' I thought as the new, polish barmaid took ten minutes to get a pint of Guinness and a glass of wine ready, and during the five minutes it took her to figure out the till, I did my best to move as far away from the nutter as possible without making eye contact.
Finally I got away from the tirade of what he wanted to do with his next conquest, and fled to hide in the corner.
We sat trying to read as he ranted at some poor sod sat next to him, and made lewd remarks to the barmaid, who luckily didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but then we reached a dilemma.
Go home, or brave the bar again for another drink.
We decided to stay, and as the ex had the cash, it was up to me to face the bar again.
I tried to make myself invisible but it didn't work, and as I waited another eternity for the round, he began to rant, and this time I was scared.
"Whores!" he mumbled at a point just by my left ear. "They're all whores! And junkies, fu*king evil junkies, women, all of them!"
I desperately looked around to see if there was anything I could use as a weapon, but the only thing to hand was a flimsy newspaper.
"All junkies deserve to die!" he continued, and I thought it was probably a good thing that some of the more undesirable clientele weren't around to hear him**
""You look into their eyes, and you see nothing! Just blank, staring, dead eyes!" he continued.
It was then that I looked down at the bags he had with him to see if there was any signs of blood seeping from them, but before I managed to get a look he started rambling again.
"They all deserve to die, the fu*king, evil, bitch whores!" he hissed as I willed the barmaid to hurry up, and seriously considered leaving the drinks behind, but just as he started on how much he wanted to rip their hearts out they arrived, and grabbing them I fled.
"Did you just hear what he was saying?" I asked the ex, but he had been engrossed in a crossword and hadn't been paying attention.
I told him what had happened, and we nervously peered at the nutter to see what he would do next. I asked the ex if he fancied going up to him and saying 'Hi, I'm a junky, fancy a shag?' but he declined.
The fruitloop continued to harangue the barmaid and I was seriously thinking about calling the loony bin to see if anyone had escaped, when at last, after a long rant about the Evils of All Religions, he supped the last of his pint and went to leave, pausing only to ask the ex if he wanted him to help find him a girlfriend on the way out***.
After reading this, are any of you surprised that the dictionary definition of 'Hanwell' is Lunatic Asylum?

*Yes, I do drink there. Shut up.
**Second thoughts, could have been entertaining...
*** He declined.