Notes from the pub (you're never alone with a notebook and pen)

Enter a couple... in their thirties. I've seen them before. They usually sit at the tall table in the middle of the pub, where she dangles her patent-leather slippered feet. This time they go to the bar. He crooks his arm around her neck, draws her to him, kisses her. I wonder, idly, if this is an office romance.

Three young girls are playing pool and drinking from bottles with straws.

I am sitting, alone, in a corner of the room.

I was served with my pint by that nice blonde barmaid. 'I like your nails'. They are two-toned, orange and black.
 'Thankyou.'

'Kroenenburg?' she had asked.
Bitter please'
'We've run out.' She'd smiled apologetically.
'I'll have a pint of Foster's'

 A colleague of mine, Billy, used to have a saying 'No wonder barmaids drown their young'. He used the phrase whenever Derek, the office-boy, made a mistake.

I like it in here. It's warm and friendly. Like William Blake's 'alehouse'.


Two very tall women walk in. They could be models, although I don't think they are.

I'm down to the last inch of my pint, and the beer is just starting to hit my legs. Shall I have another one? I don't want to go home yet.

I watch the barmaid - Sharon? Sylvie? Stella? pulling a pint, and it occurs to me that barmaids have a life outside of the pub, and these lines come into my head:

This barmaid has a life

When she goes away from here –

What d’you think she’s pulling

When she isn’t pulling beer?

Later these lines turned into this:

On the Pull

This barmaid has a life

When she goes away from here –

What d’you think she’s pulling

When she isn’t pulling beer?

Perhaps she’s pulling wool

Over unsuspecting eyes –

Perhaps she’s pulling rabbits

Out of hats – as a surprise.

Perhaps she’s pulling up her socks,

Resolving to do better –

Perhaps she’s pulling out the rug

From under from under some go-getter.

Perhaps she’s pulling ropes

To make the church bells ring –

Perhaps she’s pulling tails

On cats – the naughty thing.

Perhaps she’s pulling faces

To make her boyfriend smile –

Perhaps she’s pulling up her skirts

To climb some rustic stile.

Perhaps she’s pulling on the oars

Of rowing boat or skiff  –

Perhaps she’s pulling out her gear

To roll herself a spliff.

 Perhaps she’s pulling up the weeds

To make her garden pretty –

Perhaps she’s pulling crackers

And reading jokes, so witty.

 

Perhaps she’s pulling down her blind

Before she goes to bed –

Perhaps she’s pulling out the corks

And watching wine flow red.

Perhaps she’s pulling out all stops,

Some gentleman to please –

Perhaps she’s pulling muscles

And dislocating knees.

For there are oh so many things

A girl like her could pull –

So when she’s finished here tonight,

I bet her life’s not dull.