Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Wednesday, 25 January 2017
Three Americans walked into the pub yesterday. One was a William Burroughs look-alike who I know lives in Bath, and the other two were a Texan husband and wife. I know this because the man had already visited five other pubs that afternoon and drunk five pints of beer in each.
While the bleach-blonde wife spent her time trying to work out how to use her smartphone at one end of the bar, the man came over to us and bought everyone within sight a drink. We had to pay for it in one way though, and I began to wish that it had been with my own money.
The Texan bellowed "HELL YES!" in my ear at the end of every comment, and danced to the Country music someone put on for his benefit from the waist up, with his arms and fists swinging dangerously close to my head when they were up, and the drinks on the bar when they were down. I began to dread the innevitable moment when the subject of Donald Trump would arise.
I initially thought that this couple were the friends of William Burroughs, but it turned out that they had just met in a different pub the same day. The Texan had just got off a plane from India and his wife from Texas. Burroughs had arrived from Los Angeles about 15 years ago.
The Texan and Burroughs had got very familiar with each other at the start it seems, because very soon after they came into our pub, the Texan shouted over to Burroughs, "HEY, ASSHOLE!" Burroughs stood up and took his drink out into the freezing garden.
The blonde wife buried herself deeper in her phone, but a few seconds later her husband wanted to talk to her, so he shouted, "HEY, WIFE!" She went over to him so he could mutter something in her ear. She obviously knows him quite well. They announced that in the morning they were travelling to Brighton for a few days.
I asked what the Texan liked to do back home, and he replied, "I LIKE FIGHTING AND DRINKING!" Please God, let nobody mention Trump I prayed.
Nobody had to, because his next move was to shout, "CLINTON SUCKS! OBAMA SUCKS! TRUMP IS AN HONEST MAN! YEEHA!"
This man had obviously never read the little handbook issued to G.I.s telling them how to behave in England, so I quietly told him that it was considered bad taste to talk about politics or religion in English pubs. I added that talking about Trump and Brexit would be devisive in this particular pub as well. Why did I have to mention Brexit like an idiot?
"WASSAMADDER WITH BRIT-EX? DON'T YOU WANT TO GOVERN YOURSELVES?! YOU WANNA LITTLE ASSHOLE IN EUROPE TELLING YOU WHAT TO DO?" I thought that it wasn't that long ago that all Americans included Britain in the entire continent as a matter of course.
I decided to finish my drink and leave, but he would not hear of it and physically tried to force me back down on the bar stool. He was then restrained by a local hard man, and I finally managed to leave, explaining that I was not on holiday and would have left then anyway.
My final farewell to him was, "Have a nice time in Brighton. You will like it there. It's full of faggots. Brighton is the faggot-capital of Great Britain!"
I can't wait to go in tonight to see how he got on for the rest of his evening!