Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 11 July 2013
The country lore of old Wiltshire
Today, life will begin to return to what I laughingly think of as normal, when our mate returns to Bremerhaven in his M.G.
Yesterday we had lunch at a riverside pub out of town, and as we made our order, the publican handed us a large, round, electronic pager which displayed the number 56 in an illuminated window on the side. There were a stack of these devices behind the bar, and they all flashed and blinked away as they charged themselves up.
I was impressed with this technology, and as we sat in the shade some distance from the actual bar, I waited for the thing to bleep to alert us that our meal was ready to collect.
After a while, a girl stood at the top of the large flight of steps which lead down to the garden, and bawled "NUMBER FIFTY SIX!!!" at the top of her ample lungs. The pager remained silent.
I went up to the kitchen door to collect our lunch, only to find that it was not yet ready.
When I asked why they didn't use the pagers to call customers, she said that they hadn't worked for years. I asked why they didn't save electricity by simply handing us a bit of paper with the numbers '56' on it, and she said they had not yet got around to reforming the system.
That is what I love about rural British establishments. Things turn into 'tradition' so easily in the countryside.