Leyman Blizzard. 'Did he no' use to play for Morton?'
'You know why it is, though?' said Barney, ignoring Blizzard.
'Why?' said Hasselbaink and Lancaster in unison.
'It's because these advertisers know that women are more susceptible to these things. I mean, let's face it, most of the stuff that gets advertised on the telly's a load of shite, right? They tell you something's going to make your teeth whiter than white, or make you more attractive, or make your shoes shinier, or some shite, whatever, but it's all a load of kiech. Like yon Twix advert from a while back where some bloke would take a galumphing great bite out of some other chocolate bar, jamming the bloody thing so far back down his throat he couldn't breathe, then some eejit would take a minuscule bite from a Twix and then start prattling on about how brilliant he was because he had so much of his bar left, and that the other guy was a wanker. It was all a load o' pish.'
'So?'
'Well, you see, women can't see through all that. They're no' as astute as us men. They're more susceptible to the adman's bullshit. Men have smart, intuitive, clear-thinking, rapier-like minds. Women are just stupid. So the admen have to pander to women's stupidity, knowing that men are too sage to be fooled by them. Too sage,' he repeated.
Burt Lancaster, Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink and Leyman Blizzard stared into the mirror, thinking deeply about what Barney had just said. Sounded about right, they thought.
'Wait a minute,' said Blizzard. 'Wasn't Canesten the guy that went to the Rangers and got his leg broken?'
Don't Dum-De-De-Dum-Dum
'I've thought of a good advert for that crap you drink,' said Barney to Leyman Blizzard.
Blizzard downed the dregs of his neat whisky and laid the glass back on the table.
'Good for you, son,' he said. 'You can tell me all about it after you've got me another.'
Barney shook his head. 'Jings,' he said. 'I wish you'd stop drinking that stuff as if it was lager. You've had about five of them and I'm still on my first pint.'
'That's 'cause you drink like a pussy,' said Blizzard, and Barney finished off the rest of his pint in one gulp as some concession to peer pressure, then headed for the bar.
They were in Barney's new local; the bar that had been Blizzard's home from home for some time. The Paddle Steamer; ten minutes' walk from Barney's flat, and where he now found himself for the third night running. The occasional game of dominoes, but mostly they sat and talked, reliving great haircuts from the past. In Blizzard's case this consisted entirely of his insistence that he'd cut Elvis's hair when he'd stopped at Prestwick on his way back from Germany in 1960. The story usually came between his fifth and sixth doubles, but sometimes earlier. Barney hadn't heard it yet that evening; it was due.
'Pint of Tennents and a double for Leyman,' said Barney, and the barman nodded and went about his business.
Barney looked around the bar as he waited. Saw the same old faces. Only the third night and already it was as familiar as anything he'd ever known. The faded wallpaper, the one-armed bandits unchanged in the corner since time began, Old Jack the barman, and the occasional barwoman, Lolita. This was his new life; and if it already seemed mundane and overly familiar after three evenings, what would it be like after a few years? A decade? Or worse, would he still be here when he was eighty-five, telling some younger man in the bar how he'd once cut Billy Connolly's hair before he'd become famous.
He exchanged money and drinks and headed back to the table. Blizzard was leering unattractively at a woman fifty years his junior at a nearby table.
'Stop that, Leyman,' he said, as he sat down, 'you're frightening her.'
'Bollocks,' said the old man, 'she fancies me.'
'Aye, in your dreams.'
Blizzard downed half the drink in one then laid the glass on the table.
'Right then, son, tell us about this brilliant advert you've got. Though I don't know why
'You know why it is, though?' said Barney, ignoring Blizzard.
'Why?' said Hasselbaink and Lancaster in unison.
'It's because these advertisers know that women are more susceptible to these things. I mean, let's face it, most of the stuff that gets advertised on the telly's a load of shite, right? They tell you something's going to make your teeth whiter than white, or make you more attractive, or make your shoes shinier, or some shite, whatever, but it's all a load of kiech. Like yon Twix advert from a while back where some bloke would take a galumphing great bite out of some other chocolate bar, jamming the bloody thing so far back down his throat he couldn't breathe, then some eejit would take a minuscule bite from a Twix and then start prattling on about how brilliant he was because he had so much of his bar left, and that the other guy was a wanker. It was all a load o' pish.'
'So?'
'Well, you see, women can't see through all that. They're no' as astute as us men. They're more susceptible to the adman's bullshit. Men have smart, intuitive, clear-thinking, rapier-like minds. Women are just stupid. So the admen have to pander to women's stupidity, knowing that men are too sage to be fooled by them. Too sage,' he repeated.
Burt Lancaster, Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink and Leyman Blizzard stared into the mirror, thinking deeply about what Barney had just said. Sounded about right, they thought.
'Wait a minute,' said Blizzard. 'Wasn't Canesten the guy that went to the Rangers and got his leg broken?'
Don't Dum-De-De-Dum-Dum
'I've thought of a good advert for that crap you drink,' said Barney to Leyman Blizzard.
Blizzard downed the dregs of his neat whisky and laid the glass back on the table.
'Good for you, son,' he said. 'You can tell me all about it after you've got me another.'
Barney shook his head. 'Jings,' he said. 'I wish you'd stop drinking that stuff as if it was lager. You've had about five of them and I'm still on my first pint.'
'That's 'cause you drink like a pussy,' said Blizzard, and Barney finished off the rest of his pint in one gulp as some concession to peer pressure, then headed for the bar.
They were in Barney's new local; the bar that had been Blizzard's home from home for some time. The Paddle Steamer; ten minutes' walk from Barney's flat, and where he now found himself for the third night running. The occasional game of dominoes, but mostly they sat and talked, reliving great haircuts from the past. In Blizzard's case this consisted entirely of his insistence that he'd cut Elvis's hair when he'd stopped at Prestwick on his way back from Germany in 1960. The story usually came between his fifth and sixth doubles, but sometimes earlier. Barney hadn't heard it yet that evening; it was due.
'Pint of Tennents and a double for Leyman,' said Barney, and the barman nodded and went about his business.
Barney looked around the bar as he waited. Saw the same old faces. Only the third night and already it was as familiar as anything he'd ever known. The faded wallpaper, the one-armed bandits unchanged in the corner since time began, Old Jack the barman, and the occasional barwoman, Lolita. This was his new life; and if it already seemed mundane and overly familiar after three evenings, what would it be like after a few years? A decade? Or worse, would he still be here when he was eighty-five, telling some younger man in the bar how he'd once cut Billy Connolly's hair before he'd become famous.
He exchanged money and drinks and headed back to the table. Blizzard was leering unattractively at a woman fifty years his junior at a nearby table.
'Stop that, Leyman,' he said, as he sat down, 'you're frightening her.'
'Bollocks,' said the old man, 'she fancies me.'
'Aye, in your dreams.'
Blizzard downed half the drink in one then laid the glass on the table.
'Right then, son, tell us about this brilliant advert you've got. Though I don't know why
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