Walsall Pubs III

I started writing this and realised that this should be at least the third in a series which is why the strange title when there is I or II. The story I had set out to write is not the one I did write. Hopefully that will come later but, looking at the chronology that should be VI although I may write it next.

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For the first time in several years I was passing the door and I decided to pay a visit to an old flame, Pauline. Her neighbour, June saw me as I walked up the path to Pauline’s small block. June and Bill had moved in several years previously and had been regulars at the pub run by me and the wife.

Pauline was a 50 year old hopeless drunk, living on welfare and in this small flat. This was a shame and a waste as she was still very attractive. She has come by on a lunchtime when we had first taken over the pub some ears earlier.

“Have you any jobs, mister?”

The speaker was a 5’ 2” woman with greying red hair. Only later did I notice that she had one hell of a figure, decent sized tits, narrow waist and slim legs. At this moment I was distracted by the fact that it was before 12 and she was already swaying from too much alcohol. This may be hypocritical as we sold it, but it really did not endear her to me.

“No, sorry,” I replied lying through my teeth, “we have filled all the vacancies. Thanks for asking.” We were still looking for another cleaner, but it is a bit foolish to employ drunks in a pub.

“Oh, Ok,” she said and walked slowly and with deliberation up the hill. That was the point at which I watched her rear departing and, in spite of the sway, and the clothes that were past their best, I realised she should have been a stunner, even at 50.

It was summer and my wife ran the kitchen so, with staff behind the bar, it fell to me to wander tables, ostensibly collecting glasses and empty plates, giving me a good opportunity to keep an eye on the operation of the pub. This was a very downmarket area which was only saved by the presence of the area hospital which gave us most of our lunchtime trade, especially in food. Trouble abounded in the local establishments and we wanted none of it.

Over the course of the summer, she wandered down the hill and usually purchased a plate of chips and a modest half of lager and usually sat outside. She gave me her name and I gave her mine. Sober, she was good to look at and we got on OK so I had decent chats with her over the course of the summer.

Then, one evening she turned up just before closing, rather the worse for wear. I nodded hello and she went to the bar whilst I took some plates to the kitchen. Minutes later I walked back in to the bar to find one of our staff had served her with three pints. I chewed her out for doing so. “How was I to know they were all for her?” she complained. “Rather obvious,” was my reply “do you see anyone else?”

I walked over to her table. “Pauline,” I started whereupon she looked up and smiled at me, “you’ve already been drinking. How do you expect to finish those in the 20 minutes drinking-up time?”

“Dunno,” she replied

“Look, drink what you can, but at 20 past 11 the rest goes down the drain”

She nodded drunkenly. I was breaking the law just allowing her to consume the alcohol when already drunk.

My wife got agitated. “Who served her those?”

“Pat,” I replied, “I’ve already had words.”

Now there were only the three of us left in the bar, I told Pat to go and went back to Pauline’s table.