Let me set the scene for you. It’s about 6:30pmish on a Thursday I’m in a travel lodge in west Edinburgh. I've been here for the last few days and I’ve seen a fair few things in this bar/lobby/restaurant/cafe.
- Screaming children - (Ta for that)
- Hushed arguments between couples. (do speak up, I want to know why he’s never getting any again)
- The token dyke. (Oh wait, that’s me)
- And a couple of what I am sure were illicit meetings between people.......(fevered glances, and jumping when your phone goes off is a giveaway mate....)
What you don’t expect to see is what appears to be Victoria Beckham’s Mum sitting punch drunk at the bar in 6 inch stiletto’s with shopping bags from Harvey Nicks and AKA scattered round her, wailing and sobbing with large dark shades on.
In fact, as I rounded the corner to plop myself onto my bar stool, the barman almost threw himself bodily across said bar in a vain, and unsuccessful attempt to extract himself from her.
‘Can I take your order pal?!’ The barman hurls at me.
‘Can I look at the menu first?’ Raised eyebrow in return, bum not even lowered onto seat.
‘errrrrrr......ok.’
And with that he skulks off looking so affronted I wonder if I'm after stealing his last rolo.
Still quizzical, I took a moment to take in the woman sat two down from me. Long greying thin hair, LARGE beckham shades, tears plopping of the bottom of her very thin face. She looks like a stick. SERIOUSLY she needed at least half of Cadbury’s world inside her to put meat on them there bones........Honest to god, if you went to bed with her, you’d end up with paper cuts from just touching her.
Still. I busy myself in the menu avoiding eye contact completely and muttering repeatedly in my head, ‘Don’t engage, Don’t make eye contact.’
‘Hi, I'm Gail’
*fuck*
I slowly turn my head to the left and with a swift. ‘Hi’ dip my eyes back down to the menu. At this point I am praying she doesn't try again, because I would have to then say, ‘Look, I really just want to read the Menu........’ The barman and I exchange eye contact and we chew the fat (he’s seen me here all week) and I let him know it’s my last night here and that tomorrow I go home.
‘Oh aren't you lucky!’
I hear from punchdrunkvictoriabeckham’s mum. With a tad too much trace of venom in her voice for my liking. I clamp my back teeth violently together and a little sing song voice in my head pipes up ‘For fucks sake, Don’t poke the jelly fish. Just go eat your nachos and piss off Ya big giraffe.’ And for once, I listen. Now if a colleague of mine had been here, I would have been doomed. DOOMED I tell yer! (fails arms)
Moo, as I affectionately call her, is like a giant walking bosom, and WILL clasp you too it without much notice. She will also kiss the top of your head, and in-between breathes tell you her life story. EVEN if you didn't ask for it. You could say, ‘Oh the weather’s kind today.’ And you would get, ‘Yes, Unlike my mother..........................’ If she had rocked on up to the bar at that moment, I would have had a moment of sheer unadulterated terror, as I would have rapidly realised that I would be expected to offer moral support. Because we all know that people like that, will D R A G you into that situation regardless of whether you have social skills or not. I am a not. This morning, I was caught by Moo at breakfast who woefully informed me that she has a hernia. And that it’s painful, and it pokes her belly button out, and that her trousers exacerbate the problem, etc........
‘You shouldn't lift anything. And wear your own trousers’
Was my reply.
Let me point out this was PRE-COFFEE and those who know me well, know it is the absolute wrongest time ever to expect conversation from me. I mean, I grunt at the GF in the mornings. Actually we exchange mutual pre-coffee grunts and shuffles. So it’s all much of a muchness.......
Moo to be fair, didn't look to bothered. A little perplexed, maybe, and then perhaps pissed as I shuffled off to another table to munch on my Nutella covered toast. She then followed me about 3 seconds later to my table........*sigh*
ANYWAY......Back to the poor punch drunk lass.
She then demands that the Barman order her a taxi. Meanwhile a lovely lady from Aberdeen is eye balling me with a smirk in her eye. She looks normal. Her I might talk to. So in between the odd sniffing hiccup and sobbing moan from the woman I carry on eating. We hear her saying again and again, ‘She’s going to die. I know she’s going to die.’ Worrying. Anyway. Punch drunk lady get’s her taxi and after finishing what I'VE seen to be her fourth glass of wine (I’ve been here for ¾ of an hour mind) she attempts to stand up. And here is where it all goes a bit wrong. To be fair, with heels on that are the size of the twin towers I'm not surprise she totters as unsteadily as Bambi on ice. ESPECIALLY on the twigs she calls legs. My tooth brush is jealous. She takes one step. Then another, balanced by shopping bags, and then............. tilts dramatically, sending them crashing to the floor, along with a stool, menus and the sign by reception. Pawing desperately at the wall to remain upright, she spins slowly, and declares in a very dramatic posh voice, ‘Someone to help me please.’ And then stands there, hand extended, waiting. I stopped mid chew......
A very brave man (from Aberdeen) darted forwards and helps twig face out of the bar and into the taxi where she then proceeds to empty the entire contents of her bag onto the bag seat to find her keys.........
Turns out the woman had visited her Mother who is in a hospice. She then gone out shopping and bought lots of expensive things to cheer herself up, and it hadn't worked so she’d gotten pissed in a travel lodge bar.
Now. I am too looking down the barrel of the same gun at some point in the very very near future. And let me tell you. There is NO way you would find me pissed, in any bar.
Pissed at home? Possibly.
Punching a wall? Very possibly.
Venting it by shooting my bow? A definite.
Sobbing on my own until it’s out my system? – More than likely........
We all have ways of dealing with things. And we are all built very very differently. The lady’s story is a sad one. But one ultimately repeated out over the passage of time in different countries to many many different people. She has money, there was no doubt about that. But this proves that you can be rich, but be a lonely as hell, drinking on your own in a travel lodge pub, with a barman being your only saviour. She clearly had no other avenue to turn to. Which is sad. I am very lucky to have people who give more than two craps about what happens to me and mine. That love me. I know it’s a wanky thing to say, but I’m pretty rich myself.
God I miss home......
No comments:
Post a Comment