Saturday afternoon and having been locked out of my Highland retreat I found myself in the local pub. If I was nowhere then this pub was surely the middle of it. It was perched on a mountainside in the centre of a loose collection of homes in varying states of decay. One or two of these properties were clearly in the middle of being refurbished going by the volume of plant scattered around.
Anyway the bar is L-shaped and furnished in 70’s chic. It wasn't retro the furniture was original. The tables sported chipped Formica tops in burnt orange which complemented the nicotine soaked walls nicely.
I sat at the corner of the L with an unobstructed view of the pub including the alcove which is out of sight of the bar. To my right sitting in the alcove are four 40 something men who from their accents are clearly not local. For the last ten minutes they have been throwing back pints of Stella in between using the Formica tops to “chop up” lines of coke that would have made Scarface envious.
Each of them in turn snorted their lines. Throughout this I was trying to keep my eyes on the novel in my hand but as the group got louder the task became more difficult.
After a couple of drinks and a line or two of the finest Columbian the men all rose in unison before donning their coats and disappearing outside.
They returned five minutes later smelling of cigarette smoke and ordered more beers before retiring to their seats in the alcove. Clearly they believed that observing the public smoking ban was important. After all they wouldn't want to break the law now, would they?
Anyway the bar is L-shaped and furnished in 70’s chic. It wasn't retro the furniture was original. The tables sported chipped Formica tops in burnt orange which complemented the nicotine soaked walls nicely.
I sat at the corner of the L with an unobstructed view of the pub including the alcove which is out of sight of the bar. To my right sitting in the alcove are four 40 something men who from their accents are clearly not local. For the last ten minutes they have been throwing back pints of Stella in between using the Formica tops to “chop up” lines of coke that would have made Scarface envious.
Each of them in turn snorted their lines. Throughout this I was trying to keep my eyes on the novel in my hand but as the group got louder the task became more difficult.
After a couple of drinks and a line or two of the finest Columbian the men all rose in unison before donning their coats and disappearing outside.
They returned five minutes later smelling of cigarette smoke and ordered more beers before retiring to their seats in the alcove. Clearly they believed that observing the public smoking ban was important. After all they wouldn't want to break the law now, would they?
Truly a sign of the times.
1 comment:
When I was an illegal alien in the US in the 1980s, I worked in the kitchen of the Red Onion Bar in Aspen. My boss was a lunatic Vietnam Vet, who used to throw knives and pots around the kitchen when he got stressed. He used to start his work days out in the bar with a line of Columbias finest and a Budweiser. Obviously to calm the nerves.
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