their teenage daughters.
To gasps and then wild
applause, the tiny gold-clad figure concluded with a fire-eating, unicycling,
beer-bottle-juggling, reworking of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ that would have had
Sam Goldwyn reaching for his cheque-book.
Laughing
Jack came forward with the bottle of Scotch.
‘Sir,’
was all he could manage to say.
As
suddenly as he had appeared the tiny man was gone, cartwheeling, somersaulting,
spinning through the saloon bar door. The drummers and majorettes followed,
along with the Scotsman who told the General Custer yarns, who had taken up his
pipes to play ‘Amazing Grace’.
And
then The Swan fell into silence.
And
might well still be doing it to this day if Neville hadn’t managed to speak.
‘Never
in my long years as a barman,’ he said in a quavery voice, ‘have I seen anything to rival that.’
‘It is
truly the wonder of the age,’ said Jim Pooley.
‘There
are more things in Heaven and Earth and so on,’ agreed John Omally.
‘It
leaves my ‘Green, Green, Grass of Home’ with egg on its face,’ said Hector, who
hadn’t had a mention for quite some time.
‘I must
say that I rather enjoyed that myself,’ said Small Dave, who had been standing
unnoticed by the ladies’ toilet.
All
heads present turned in his direction, all mouths that were not already open
now opened. Wide.
‘My
appearance in this book has been nothing more than a cameo,’ said Neville the
part-time barman, ‘but given the evidence of the previous chapters, that is
the kind of cop-out ending I would have expected.’
‘I’m
sorry,’ said Small Dave. ‘But my bottle went and I just couldn’t go through
with it. Damn fine show though. Who was that masked man?’
SONG
WITH NO WORDS
He’d been out on a busy Friday,
Singing that song with no words.
But the going had been as tough as could be,
He’d fallen twice and ricked his knee
And he was glad to get home at all,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d fallen in love with a check-out girl,
Singing that song with no words.
Though she had spots of a generous size
And something strange about one of her eyes,
He’d offered his heart and she’d punched out his lights,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d got in a fight with a hot dog man,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d only said to the fellow in fun
That he thought his hot dogs smelt like dun(g)
And just for that he’d been soundly thrashed,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d been for a boat trip round the bay,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d exposed himself to a party of Czechs
Who were making charts of sunken wrecks
So they’d tossed him off [17] and he’d gone down, [18]
Singing that song with no words.
He’d finally fallen foul of the law,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d shouted abuse at a copper on point
Said he was a fairy and smoking a joint
So he’d
been dragged away to the Nick and given a right good truncheoning by several irate
constables who’d had a proper day of it chasing up reports of some limping loon
who’d been bothering check-out girls, getting into fights with hot dog men and
flashing his willy at foreigners.
And
enough was enough!
Singing
that song with no words.
Amen.
7
UNCLE
BRIAN EXPLAINS
EVERYTHING
(ALMOST)
I ARRIVED AT UNCLE BRIAN’S
HOUSE A LITTLE AFTER TEN.
The
walk took longer than usual as it looked like rain. I had to write the word ‘sun’
on the palm of my left hand to balance that out, then walk part of the way
backwards for peace in our time. When Uncle Brian didn’t answer the doorbell I
had to arrange five pieces of chalk on his window-sill.
It’s
better to be safe than sorry.
He
arrived home at sixteen minutes to eleven, which was also 10.44, which was all
right by me as my shirt cuffs were unbuttoned. Uncle Brian looked somewhat the
worse for wear. A police car dropped him off, well, flung
To gasps and then wild
applause, the tiny gold-clad figure concluded with a fire-eating, unicycling,
beer-bottle-juggling, reworking of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ that would have had
Sam Goldwyn reaching for his cheque-book.
Laughing
Jack came forward with the bottle of Scotch.
‘Sir,’
was all he could manage to say.
As
suddenly as he had appeared the tiny man was gone, cartwheeling, somersaulting,
spinning through the saloon bar door. The drummers and majorettes followed,
along with the Scotsman who told the General Custer yarns, who had taken up his
pipes to play ‘Amazing Grace’.
And
then The Swan fell into silence.
And
might well still be doing it to this day if Neville hadn’t managed to speak.
‘Never
in my long years as a barman,’ he said in a quavery voice, ‘have I seen anything to rival that.’
‘It is
truly the wonder of the age,’ said Jim Pooley.
‘There
are more things in Heaven and Earth and so on,’ agreed John Omally.
‘It
leaves my ‘Green, Green, Grass of Home’ with egg on its face,’ said Hector, who
hadn’t had a mention for quite some time.
‘I must
say that I rather enjoyed that myself,’ said Small Dave, who had been standing
unnoticed by the ladies’ toilet.
All
heads present turned in his direction, all mouths that were not already open
now opened. Wide.
‘My
appearance in this book has been nothing more than a cameo,’ said Neville the
part-time barman, ‘but given the evidence of the previous chapters, that is
the kind of cop-out ending I would have expected.’
‘I’m
sorry,’ said Small Dave. ‘But my bottle went and I just couldn’t go through
with it. Damn fine show though. Who was that masked man?’
SONG
WITH NO WORDS
He’d been out on a busy Friday,
Singing that song with no words.
But the going had been as tough as could be,
He’d fallen twice and ricked his knee
And he was glad to get home at all,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d fallen in love with a check-out girl,
Singing that song with no words.
Though she had spots of a generous size
And something strange about one of her eyes,
He’d offered his heart and she’d punched out his lights,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d got in a fight with a hot dog man,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d only said to the fellow in fun
That he thought his hot dogs smelt like dun(g)
And just for that he’d been soundly thrashed,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d been for a boat trip round the bay,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d exposed himself to a party of Czechs
Who were making charts of sunken wrecks
So they’d tossed him off [17] and he’d gone down, [18]
Singing that song with no words.
He’d finally fallen foul of the law,
Singing that song with no words.
He’d shouted abuse at a copper on point
Said he was a fairy and smoking a joint
So he’d
been dragged away to the Nick and given a right good truncheoning by several irate
constables who’d had a proper day of it chasing up reports of some limping loon
who’d been bothering check-out girls, getting into fights with hot dog men and
flashing his willy at foreigners.
And
enough was enough!
Singing
that song with no words.
Amen.
7
UNCLE
BRIAN EXPLAINS
EVERYTHING
(ALMOST)
I ARRIVED AT UNCLE BRIAN’S
HOUSE A LITTLE AFTER TEN.
The
walk took longer than usual as it looked like rain. I had to write the word ‘sun’
on the palm of my left hand to balance that out, then walk part of the way
backwards for peace in our time. When Uncle Brian didn’t answer the doorbell I
had to arrange five pieces of chalk on his window-sill.
It’s
better to be safe than sorry.
He
arrived home at sixteen minutes to eleven, which was also 10.44, which was all
right by me as my shirt cuffs were unbuttoned. Uncle Brian looked somewhat the
worse for wear. A police car dropped him off, well, flung
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