Saturday, 27 July 2013

The Day Our Love Died

Red Wine



It had been such a trivial point to have been reprimanded for. Yes – reprimanded! Corrected like a small child, who had made a foolish mistake, Emily had jokingly told me that I should have known where the red wine is stocked. It is, she added in a motherly voice, stored in the small room behind the bar, because outside it is too cold, and the pub’s customers, of who more and more were drinking red wine by the glass, wouldn’t be impressed to find their Bordeaux cold, instead of being at room temperature.

 

I apologised for my error, but when a coach loaded with tourists descended on the pub - all wanting red wine by the bucketful – I thought that a shower of old fools from London wouldn’t mind if their red wine was chilled. But how wrong I was, and as the exaggerated cries of horror could have been heard in a Parisian brasserie, Emily’s father reminded me that every customer is a potential critic, and that all critics are spiteful and malicious bastards. And he was right.

 

One of the old bastards had taken it upon himself to query our entry in the Good Pub Guide, saying that whilst the welcome he had received at the pub was warm, sadly the red wine he had been served was cold. And then there was the trace of lipstick on one of the glasses…

 

Cold Bordeaux and a dirty glass. A two-star review. An acidic comment. And now, after having such great things said about the pub, perhaps, said one critic, we should stick to lager and peanuts, because isn’t that what all seaside pubs are about?

 

Lager and peanuts! Well, I had survived on a diet of lager and peanuts during the previous four years, before I was forced to leave London, after Tony had decided to teach my ex-lover a lesson. I had guzzled lager by the bucketful and had dined on hundreds of packets of peanuts during those four wonderful years, and when I had been at my lowest ebb, and demoralised by all that was going on in my life, lager and peanuts, in the safe haven of the pub at the end of our road, had kept me going.
 
 
Dave Cooper reflecting on the day his life with Emily fell apart.
Extract taken from "The Londoners 3 - No Turning Back"
All three books in "The Londoners" trilogy are now out as one, in "The Londoners - Four Years In London"
All titles available for Kindle via Amazon.

Friday, 19 July 2013

Italy - part 2

So the curtain is coming down here in Bolsena. The weather is on the turn, several kilos have been gained and thoughts are turning to the return journey to Normandy.
As usual I've stuffed myself with pasta and pizza, and now my mind is turning to simple food in the comfort of my home, 1,600 kilometres away.
Once we've made it through Mont Blanc next Friday, what joy will overcome us as we stop at the first service station in France, where we will eagerly consume a fine French sandwich of ham and cheese, with not a strand of pasta in sight.
And then onwards, through the rain and fog, already dreaming of next year's holiday.
Vive les vacances, for life is too hard without a stay in the sun, where the poodle limps on, the bichon chases flies and where I get fatter.
We are strange, aren't we? Never really happy here, and never satisfied at home, and dreaming of motorway service stations, because we want nothing more than a decent sandwich.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Italy - part 1

So after a journey of 1,500 kilometres, this is what the first week of my holiday in Italy has delivered to me:
On arrival at our lakeside chalet, we laughed when we saw that a tree had fallen in our garden.
God made the tree fall that way, otherwise our chalet would be a pile of timber.
I've discovered that it's too hot to drink whisky. I've consumed little beer but have turned my attention to the local white wine.
The poodle has hurt one of his front paws. The bichon is having one hell of a time.
This year I'm eating more fish and less pizza, which pleases my wife.
Yesterday, in the lake, my other half played with my cock and balls. If a local fisherman hadn't arrived, I believe that we would have repeated our swimming pool experience which unfolded under the Normandy sun, at the end of last month.
There are less flies this year.
Tonight I think it will be pizza for dinner.
Until next time...

Monday, 1 July 2013

Things I Like

We are all tired here. Me, the wife, the poodle and the bichon. We are all sick and tired of the awful weather, the soaring taxes, Monsieur Hollande and everything else.
 
WE ARE SICK AND TIRED.
 
But not to worry, because in three days we will the load the car, close the shutters over the windows and begin our annual pilgrimage to Italy, where during three weeks we will forget all of our problems and recharge our batteries.
 
HOLIDAYS IN THE SUN!
 
Fucking fantastic! Something to aim for and something to make us forget all of our problems.
 
But if our three week stay in Italy isn't enough to bring a smile to our faces, last night I thought about a multitude of things which have always delivered me pleasure, and which have always boosted my spirit in the most miserable of times.
 
So, in no particular order, here we go...
 
Cricket: It's a fine sport, if you can understand it.
 
 
Strong lager. Hawaiian pizzas. The Sex Pistols. Books by John Steinbeck. Bacon sandwiches. Hot Dogs. Double cheeseburgers. English test cricket in the 1980's. The Two Ronnies. Model railways. Wispa chocolate bars. Indian restaurants. Cornwall. Radio 1 in the 1980's. Paranormal activity. The Swimmer with Burt Lancaster. War films. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
 
 

The Embassy World Darts Championship. Marks & Spencer trifles. English motorway restaurants. Fish and chips. Weekends in Dublin. Day trips to Calais. Holidays in Las Vegas. The taste of buttered toast. Dirty backstreet London pubs. Greyhound races. Lime Jelly and double cream. A trip to Broadstairs. Holidays in Italy.



 Watching a football match on a wide-screen television, in a pub, whilst drinking heavily. An English breakfast. Carry On films. Mowing the lawn. Screaming obscenities at the top of one's voice. Sleeping in a warm bed on a cold winter's night. Travelling by train. Falling asleep whilst watching the television. Saturday afternoons in the pub. Reading the Sunday newspapers whilst drinking red wine. Walking in the park with your lover. Dreaming of your next holiday. Taking a stroll in winter along a beach on the south coast of England. Playing with your dogs. Feeling the sun on your face. Oral sex. Love. Life. Peace of mind.

Good Night.

Oral Sex: It's better than...