Old Codger

I was sitting at the bar reading my email, checking the latest on the IPL, sipping my pint & generally winding down after a day spent bhatko-ing around London boroughs.

There was this old fart who came in & over the course of the next hour or so held forth to whoever would listen to his life story. Not very aggressively, mind you. Very conversationally!!

I write all this because I think I got a whiff of the famed pub culture over here.

He shuffled in, dressed in a purple 'cardigan', corduroys & 'loafers'. Proceeded to the bar & started chatting up with Franco (an old Italian fellow who mans the bar at the hotel). After sometime Franco peeled away to fulfil his duties. Old fart looked around & sat down. Soon struck up a conversation with another couple at the next table. Now this couple revealed that they were visiting London from the 'country' as their 24 - year old son was in the hospital (why they were drinking at the bar & weren't at the hospital is beyond me, but I guess its cultural).

OF (Old Fart) inquires whether their son was a drunk. 'Lots of kids take to drink you know', he said knowingly. The mother kind of said no indignantly & the father said no his son didn't drink at all. OF observed (sharply) that they (parents) were drinking, as if to suggest that the son was drinking on the sly whenever the parents did.

'Oh no, i drink only champagne & that too only when I win at the 'horses' said dad.

'Oh right, and I'm sure you finish off a couple of bottles then don't you?', said OF.

With this grand opening he moved in to sit with them & finish his booze. 'I was over at the continent you know, sent over by Roosevelt to set things right after the war' he began. 'oh really, how interesting', cooed the mom.

He then proceeded to hold forth on various ills the world was currently fighting with and how he would deal with them. He even claimed to know Jacques Chirac personally. His tales got weirder & weirder. He told the other two that since he had spent 'his entire life' in France, he was an expert on Champagne. He called Franco to show him the restaurant list & proceeded to dismiss them all as 'cheap 4th division stuff'.

Then there was this hilarious conversation where the couple were throwing brand names at him & OF was dismissing them as '4th division', 'never heard of it', '3rd division' etc etc. Dad then politely inquired whether in OF's opinion, when he said 4th division, it went up to 1st and then whether there was then another level like the Premiership!! OF went 'what, what' a couple of times, cos he obviously didn't follow soccer.

I almost died trying to suppress my laughter.

Obviously OF gauged I was laughing; he called the manager & moaned (in an undertone) that 'this is the bar, how can you have people working on computers?'. The manager (a desi) politely told him that I was a guest & I was free to do as I pleased. 'But surely its not on, ol' chap, you must have rules otherwise where will we end up'?

On his way out the manager winked at me & said 'koi baat nahi, budhha sathiya gaya hai, aap beer piyo aram sey'.

Cheers to that! And to the old codger!

Updates from Oh-Blimey land

The brits love to hear someone talk. Just listen to the Beeb or the radio. They just go on & on inanely in their clipped accent. Here is a sampler of the top issues on the airways :
a. John Prescott confesses he secretly suffered from bulimia. Thank you sir! Now we have to suffer daily updates on where you ate, how you ate, why you ate. In a fine piece of investigative journalism, we also got to see that chinese restaurant where you allegedly ‘ran through the menu’; though the staff had a different version of you running through a set lunch menu. Now that is a revelation – he’s no better than many of us who diligently run through a set menu.
b. Today I heard a noon talk show on whether prisoners deserve good conditions while they are incarcerated. Good meaning whether they should be allowed to watch TV in their cells. One caller, claiming to have a vague military background felt that this was rich given that ‘our lads are on the frontline, with orders to kill & they don’t get to see TV, so why should prisoners’. Then there was a policeman who confessed that ‘hearing this debate, I don’t think I’ll go for a career in the prison service’! Yeah now that’s a major career downer for him – what a brave sacrifice to make!
c. Mayor of London – Elections are around the corner. There are 3 dudes in the race –the incumbent Kenny boy, the rabble rouser Boris & the lightweight whats-his-name? Mr lightweight is there to make up the numbers & is apparently openly gay & a liberal democrat (unclear which is the bigger disqualification). Everyone seems to be pretty cheesed off with Kenny boy because he keeps accusing everyone of being racist when they question some of his pals on how they spend their tax monies. Boris is – literally – the joker in the pack. Sample this – on a debate he was asked hwo he could stand for office when he had zero experience in public office & in running a tight organisation of any sorts. His aggressive response with just the right touch of indignation was that ‘it was downright untrue; he has hands-on experience in cost-cutting having sacked 20 people personally!’ I’m running scared man!