Skip to main content

A Pint of Line Two and a Packet of Dry Roasted




There's a lot of moaners and grouches in the pub. I'm one of them. Some border on misanthropy. We are the regulars who return day after day to complain about every change in light bulb or different angle of pumpclip, yet still return as we know we don’t want to drink anywhere else. 

Amongst the malice and hyperbole is one regular who defies the norm and has a smile for every punter and every member of staff. He is universally liked amongst each clique and type of regular.

And - more fool him - he has become one of my very good friends. 

The wonder of pubs for many is in the friends they make that transcend the days of social media, video calls and constant "group chats." Me and Colin have each other's numbers but they are rarely used, except for the odd facetious text of encouragement - "You are Two-Nil down already mate." 

Mostly we just meet at the bar. First by chance. Then increasingly "by chance." Then it became Thursday club. Then Wednesday was added into the mix too. And of course we are always here Friday. And the odd quick pint on a Monday has been known to turn into five hours of putting the world to rights - or at least his beloved City's back four. 

It is never about drinking to excess. It is never about avoiding home. It is about the pub ritual joys of good company in a comfortable location. It is the pub at its best. 

I'm not sure I've ever socialised with Colin outside of the pub. I'm not even sure I've ever socialised with him out of the same pub, though maybe we did venture once or twice. We could and would but when you have a bar and a mate you are happy to chat with then you rarely have to change.

And he is too bloomin’ generous. Annoyingly so. I have to fight to even pay for a drink. I'm sure I'm about 20 pints behind now. I don’t think I’ve ever bought the bags of dry roasted.

I could not have asked for a better pub mate. 

The very last Thursday club really was by chance but something made me hurry along from shopping to catch that extra hour in the pub. When his son messaged to say that the family were so glad that the last thing he did was to have a couple of pints with some of his best mates in his favourite pub that was enough for me. It broke me. I couldn't even consider going in the following Thursday. 

It will never be the same. Of course it won't be. I'd rather be left alone at the bar now. I’d rather be left alone in most bars but never when Colin was in. He had that effect: the rare effect on an insular like me, that chatting with a mate was better than propping up the bar solitary. 

As I said to our mutual mate, as we met on the night that the news broke, "Lots of people dislike me, lots of people dislike you, but everybody - EVERYBODY - loved Colin." 

They'll need to hire a hall for his funeral, they say, as he touched so many lives. But selfishly all I can think is of his impact on mine and the hole at the bar that is left. 

It is a hole that can never be refilled - he was that special a man. Everybody from my mother, to partner, to that annoying fella I can’t stand who comes in the pub on Fridays loved Colin. Everybody. 

I'm writing this at the bar on a Thursday. There is no Thursday club this week. There never will be again. But there will always be a pint of line 2 and a packet of dry roasted waiting for my mate anyway.

Always mate.  




Colin sponsored a beer for Salford Beer Festival - after only just meeting Jim, only just hearing of the festival and not being asked to. He was just that kind of human. If you are going to the festival then it is the Brass Castle American Brown which will definitely be my first beer. I hope you read this and raise a glass to him too. 

Comments

GeordieManc said…
I will be raising that glass. Without Colins, pubs struggle.
Your most beautiful post ever.
12 October 2019 at 14:12
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Children and Dogs in Pubs and Bars

  I once took my niece to the pub. She was either 1 or 2 years of age. I often looked after her on Saturdays and on one of our weekly walks, for the first time, I stopped by the local pub, mainly because my friend was there with his daughter of similar age. The two kids got on well together and it was a lovely couple of hours; a perfect showcase of adult friends and their children existing in public houses. But my sister was furious. She didn’t rant or rave but her lips were purser than a 90s children’s show teacher. It was here that I learned of the effect that our childhood had had upon her. She recalls many an afternoon being bored in the corner of pubs that our Dad had dragged us to, arms folded in the corner with nothing to do, and she doesn’t want the same for her children. The idea of her first born being taken to pubs infuriates her; fearful that they would be subjected to the same unhappy experiences that she was.  I don’t recall those times in the same way as my s
Post a Comment
Read more

"They Had Their Issues, So..."

      There’s a set of garages to rent as storage units near my workplace. One of them is taken by a local florist that uses it to store flower arrangements for various events, that are more often than not funerals.   As such, at least once a week at 8am I will pass a car being loaded up with flowers arranged into heart shaped patterns or the letters M U M. It is a grounding reminder that, as I mentally grumble my way through the upcoming arbitrary grievances of my ordinary working day, a group of family and friends locally is going through the hardest time. It provides much needed perspective on days when I could do with being reminded of all that I have to be thankful for.   These little moments explain to me why it is possible for us to share a communal loss when a celebrity passes away. Grief is often a personal and lonely experience, shared between a minority of people in your life. When a co-worker loses a relative or friend, it has little affect on me, bar signing of
Post a Comment
Read more

The Ten Pubs That Made Me - Part 3: Dr Okell's / My Foley's Tap House and Leeds

A pint in Mr Foley's Tap House from December 2022     This is Part 3 (the fourth post) of an ongoing project. Please see the beginning of Part 0 for details.    Come the end of this journey, there may be a lesson in procrastination that I am unlikely to heed. These posts stem from a list that I made three years ago and a series that I embarked on 18 months ago. We’ve only now reached a 30% completion rate and with this post we are back to fail for the second time.   This odyssey began with a trip to Mr Foley’s Tap House in February 2022 – named Dr Okell’s bar on my first visits in 2005 – only to discover that it was closed. It did reopen by the time that the post was coming out and I managed a brief visit in December 2022. However, my July 1 st 2023 trip to Leeds, on which this post is based, is met with this sign at the door of the bar:      A quick check of social media shows an Instagram post from the day before (June 30 th ) announcing the closure of the
Post a Comment
Read more