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[Archived] A Run Down Glasgow Pub - Twenty Years From Now

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I'm so depressed I revised this earlier piece. Helped me escape the gloom for a while...

THE SCENE: September 2032. A run down pub in Glasgow.

A smartly dressed young man, early twenties, wanders to the bar for an after work drink. At the corner of the bar sits an elderly bald man. He sits alone, muttering into his pint glass.


The young man sighs. He's been through this many times. His shoulders slump.


“Yessss” the young man says. “You mentioned” A couple of hundred times every night, he thinks to himself.

The old man is getting animated. He waves his arms at a field of players only he can see. “CLOSE THEM DOWN BOYS! YOU LOT GOT A POINT AT GOODISON”

The barman slowly shakes his head.


The young man looks at the barman. Eyebrows raised. The old man is holding an interview with a TV crew that isn't there. “I PROMISED YOU EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIP FOOTBALL. THAT'S WHAT I SAID” he shouts into his microphone, a half empty beer bottle “I TOOK THEM TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP IN ENGLAND, WHICH IS IN EUROPE. That's what I meant ...”. His voice tails off.

“How do you put up with him?” says the young man “why don't you throw him out?”

“Can't” says the barmen. “He manages the place. We used to be one of the best pubs in Glasgow but look at it now.”

“KICK THE ROUND THING.” His head now tilted back, arms flailing, he resembles a drowning Mussolini.

“So what happened?” asks the young bloke.

“We had some beautiful barmaids. Used to pay top wages. He kept giving them the night off. Told everyone they had sore knees, eyebrow strain or recurring split ends. Eventually they left. He insulted the customers, called them all stupid. Insisted on doing every job himself instead of getting his staff to do it. Used to have this saying 'Delegation? No chance'.”

The barmen picks up a bright orange and black menu “Changed the menu, we used have a great menu. Look at it know.”

Chicken Orr Chicken?

Chicken Bunn

Chicken in a bun

The Olsson Roll

Chicken and Chicken Roll

Four at the Back

De-Luxe chicken and chicken sandwich with extra chicken. Served with chicken salt.

“Then his mate Jerry got him to hire all these new barmen. Top wages too. Trouble is they'd never poured a pint. Spent all their time on the wrong side of the bar just staring at the ceiling. So he 're-organised' the staff. Waiters became glass washers, the bouncers became the cleaners and old Alfie was the exotic dancer. Looked stupid in a g-banger the poor bloke.”


“Why don't the owners get rid of him?”

“One of the great mysteries of life” the barmen shakes his head “my money's on donkey photos. See any tables in here?”

“No” the young fellow looks around “half the stools are missing too. Where's the toilet doors gone?”

“Owners sold them all. Thought no-one would notice. Sold all the spirit glasses too. Now, if you want a whisky you have to cup your hands. They call this the Spurs bar.”

“Why's that?”

“No shots”

The barmen continues. “Course the owners have never run a pub before. Never even been in one.”

“He” the barmen nods a head in the drunks direction “threw all the pictures out. Said in his mind the frames weren't right”.

“LEAVE NOTHING ON THE PITCH BOYS.” The old man looks to an imaginary crowd “THEY LOVE ME”

“Then he convinced everyone he could play the guitar. Started a band.”

“Would I have heard of them?” asks the young man.

“Maybe – Stevie Dignified and the Positives. They were rubbish. Apparently it was the guitars fault.”


“So is he from round here?” the young man asked

“He was born around here but moved to the Gaza Strip when he was four. Reckons he had to dodge land mines, jump barbed wire and wrestle terrorists every day on his way to school. Toughened him up.”

“Then he came back and played for Celtic, scored the winner in The European Cup Final.” The barmen says. He stops wiping glasses and looks at the young man.

“But wasn't that in nineteen sixty-....”

“Seven. I know” said the barmen “Stevie Chalmers. Reckoned he had to change his name from Chalmers to Kean because he got twenty thousand letters of admiration a day and the Post Office complained.” The barman once more shakes his head. “Totally deluded.”

“Claims he's descended from Braveheart. Says the one team he managed, all the players called him Braveheart. They even wore blue and white shirts in his honour. Reckons the fans used to paint their faces blue and white in homage”

“What a looney.” says the young man. Looking at the old man in disbelief. “What was the name of the team?”

“Do you remember Blackburn Rovers.”

“Vaguely” the young bloke scratches his chin. “Ma dad used to talk about them. Aren't they an English football club”

“Were” said the barman “very sad story”

“A CUSTOMER'S SPIKED MA DRINK” the old man topples backwards of his stool.

A moment later a wrinkled appears on the bar. “YOU HAVE TO GO DOWN TO COME UP” shouts a muffled voice. “I'LL BE BACK WITHYA IN A MINUTE.”

“OR TWO....”

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I prefer my version fella.

Run down Glasgow pub. Gang violence and the like.

A fat bald tw@t sat at the bar. Someone walks in and shoots him in the head.

The End.

*Disclaimer: This is for literacy expression and refers to no-one in particular.

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Guest TheArtistFormallyKnownAsJB

I have to say Getskills, thats the one laugh i've had today.

“Owners sold them all. Thought no-one would notice. Sold all the spirit glasses too. Now, if you want a whisky you have to cup your hands. They call this the Spurs bar.”

“Why's that?”

“No shots”


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