Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

No, this isn't a rework of Alan Sillitoe's fabulous book (if I could write like him I'd hardly be working as a landlady would I?) The title is an attempt to restrain myself to a time frame, because I can digress. Whether my plan will work, remains to be seen. However, like the novel to which the title alludes, this blog will have gritty realism (aka 'bad' language), make reference to drinking, is a reflection of how alcohol can affects us and, in a departure from the novel, mentions the general going's on in a small village pub. (Can you guess which one?)

With all thoughts of work left behind on Friday evening, Saturday offers up an opportunity to get over the working week during the day, and a chance to throw caution to the wind at night, as there is no need for alarms, commutes or work on Sunday. (I am, of course, referring here to those who do not work in hospitality, the uniformed services or shift workers). So, Saturday's do tend to be busy night's for us and this weekend was no exception.

Obviously, having some form of entertainment helps to swell the numbers, improves the atmosphere and generally assists everyone with their 'caution to the wind' throwing activities. At The Leopard last Saturday UNFORGIVEN took to the stage and entertained our customers with rock, blues, country and pop covers. They were fantastic! (See the Round of Applause page for my review). Although I have been engaging the services of bands for the pub for over 6 years now, the amount of talent that is 'out there' ,locally, never fails to amaze me. Why some of our bands are not on TV, Radio & MTV baffles me. But then, I think about the likes of Mr Cowell and other ratings hungry, so called Talent Shows on TV: let's face it unless you're fat, crazy, and have the voice of an angel (Maybe I should apply - not that I have the voice of an angel - ask anyone who's heard me killing something on Karaoke, I don't sing, I shout. With attitude!) OR pretty to look at, with the personality of wood, a great 'back story' but are unable to sing a note in key, you ain't gonna make it on those shows! We all know, deep down, that the 'X-factor' is not a euphemism for talent. We also know, that real talent doesn't actually make it on those shows. It does, however, make it onto The Leopard's Gig Guide! Britain HAS got talent. Burton's got talent. Don't watch Saturday night TV crap, get yourself down to The Leopard and see some real talent - LIVE and unleashed!

Live music brings out the best in those who come down the pub to enjoy it. Live Music (and sometimes varying amounts of alcohol, together with being with like minded folk) has an interesting affect on people. Music makes them smile, sparks memories, and I've seen even the quietest of customers get up and dance. On Saturday night we had head-banging, glass swaying, hand-clapping, toe-tapping, happy making music - thanks to Unforgiven.

In comparison, the 'mood' of The Leopard alters on Sunday Mornings. For one thing, it's quieter, despite it being busy. It's more laid back and there's a special, 'still got time to have fun', relaxed atmosphere, which is enriched by the smell of bacon cooking and the reminiscent chat, of the preceding evening's events and entertainment, over breakfast. It is difficult to define in words, but anyone who has been in for breakfast will know what I mean. Those of you haven't - come down, lose yourself for a couple of hours and find out.

Despite me and my family only having had a few hours kip, and even though opening up early means extra work, and at a faster pace, I look forward to Sundays. Last Sunday we were joined by a young 'gentleman' who had either found a watering hole that was serving beer, rather than breakfast, early on a Sunday or taken advantage of some Supermarket's loss-leader tinnies. He greeted me & one of our customers, as he ambled out of the car park, with something that sounded not too dissimilar to a football terrace chant, and made his way towards us. We were sitting outside the pub enjoying the lovely sunshine, admiring the heavily laden cherry blossom tree, having a chat, a cuppa and a smoke. I asked our customer if he knew the approaching, naked from the waist up, bloke who was heading in our direction. He did not. I checked behind me to see if he was shouting to someone I couldn't see. The expanse of pavement in front of the pub was bereft of other people. Mr 'Noisy' headed towards us, unceremoniously melted into one of our chairs and made a slurred attempt at conversation. When it became apparent to me that he was making himself comfortable, I politely informed him that The Leopard has a 'shirt on' policy and would he mind putting on the T-shirt he was carrying. I'll give him his due, as he attempted to find the correct holes into which to place his arms and head, he tried to form a string of words together in protest. It took several attempts, at both endeavours. Once he had managed to get his T-shirt on, he gave up on the obviously complicated sentence of protest he was trying to convey, concentrated really hard and said, "There's no need to be racist".

As a landlady, I am not often at a loss for words, but that did it. Despite his inability to speak fluently, the problem was clearly not one of lack of knowledge of the English Language. As he was white and had a faintly Etonian accent (all be it a pissed up one), his assertion that I was racist stumped me. After some thought, he added "It's because I'm ginger, init". I patiently explained that it was simply Leopard policy and nothing to do with the colour of his hair and then made my way inside. As I left, I heard him scrounging a cigarette from my customer.

I informed my son (cellar monkey, barman, breakfast delivery operative) that should said fellow manage to find his way to the bar, he was not to be served as he was already under the influence. I then served a few customers, took breakfast orders and generally went about my landlady duties.

As breakfast service slowed down a little, I decided to check on the young man who was still seated outside. This time there was just him and me out there. I asked, out of curiosity, if he was returning home after a good night out, which would have explained him being drunk early in the day. He replied, with some effort, that he wasn't, and added that he lived in a nearby town. As I was wondering how and why he'd ended up in Tutbury, he asked why I had made him put his shirt on. I explained that I had received a number of complaints from customers in the past, about guys who were not wearing shirts (it wasn't only females who complained, but men too) and so I had decided, in light of these complaints (and because The Leopard is in Tutbury, not Ibiza, where men without shirts is commonplace and, therefore, acceptable) to adopt a 'cover up' policy. (This is not unusual, many other public houses have this policy too, not only for reasons of image and hygiene, but for the safety of the customers - alcohol and over exposure to the sun are not a healthy mix). He then said, (I shit you not) "Pity. If you were topless I could suck your tits."

I chose to ignore his rudeness, (to be honest, I've heard worse.) but the fact that he'd said this to ME, made it plain. He was definitely a lot more drunk than I first thought! Unless pushed, I try to deal with 'situations' fairly, with humour and without unnecessary upset. So, for want of a better excuse, I pointed out that as our tables and chairs were for customers use only, that as he had neither a drink nor breakfast, he wasn't a customer, that he should move on. His response? "Are you going to buy me a f*cking pint then, cos I've got no money?" To this I simply replied "No," and with a shake of my head I concluded, "and you're not going to get served here anyway!" "That's not up to you," he responded, "It's up to the f*ckin' Landlord to decide if I get served". "Yeah," I nodded, as I stood up, then added "I AM the f*ckin' Landlord and I have decided!". As I went back inside I heard him say "Oh?!"

I told the customers SOME of what had transpired. They found our Sunday morning entertainment as funny as I did. (I didn't tell the customers everything he'd said, some of our gallant male customers would have felt the need to defend my honour, and, as much as I appreciate their gallantry, I wanted to avoid a Sunday morning set-to). I did give a few more details to my daughter (barmaid, breakfast chef and provider of grandchildren) who decided that, as he was still loitering, she would play 'good cop' and have a go at 'getting rid'. (We don't get rid, for getting rid's sake. Say a local bobby happened by, I would have something of a task explaining why this guy was drunk and a bit 'disorderly', especially given the time of day and as our licence does not permit us to serve alcohol that early.) Sadie, took her tea, and went out into the sunshine. When I joined them, she had ascertained that he was waiting for his friend to pick him up (but he didn't know from where). She told him, smiling and politely, that he'd have to go and wait somewhere else. He then played the 'racist' card again. In my head I was starting to laugh, as I know my daughter, and knew how she'd respond to the ginger comment. She didn't let me down. She explained that being ginger it was probably a good idea that he got out of the sun. When he tried to persist that she was being 'racist', she added - "I'm doing my bit for the ginger community. MY ginger is upstairs, out of the sun, minding OUR children!"

I had to go inside so that I could let out the laughter that was building up inside me! I am not racist (either to those who, like my son-in-law, are blessed with strawberry blonde hair, nor in any other sense), I am not cruel either (I wasn't laughing at Mr 'Ginger', but at the situation and at Sadie's quick wittedness). As the laughter escaped I looked out of the window to see him making his unsteady way up the road. I hope his friend found him and got him home unscathed.

With that situation sorted, we chatted with our breakfasters, bid them farewell as they each left to pursue their Sunday activities, welcomed more customers, enjoyed our own breakfast. (It was delicious - my breakfast chef, daughter is one hell of a cook!)

Breakfast done. My granddaughter was whisked away to get ready for a party, about which she was just ever-so-slightly excited. I sat in the sun, still admiring that cherry blossom tree, and as I plaited my now, "almost ready to go" granddaughter's hair ("like Elsa's in Frozen please, Nanny!") I admired her too. She is, like my other grandchildren, just wonderful! She liked the blossom too, as did her brother, especially when Uncle Callum decided to make them the 'victims' of a 'blossom bomb'. Much laughter ensued.

The rest of my afternoon was spent preparing for our regular, Sunday, Trivia Night. I write all the quizzes myself - being older has it's advantages - I know a lot of random stuff.

Oh. Having digressed into Sunday afternoon, and alluded to the evening too, it would seem I am in danger of thwarting my own attempts at 'restraint by title' so, I'd best leave it there.

Until next time...