Black Country Santa
Saturday is pub day! Hooray!!!
When I was a few years younger, not that many for I’m still in my prime and yet to start down the slippery slope that is old age, I used to drink far too much. It seemed fun at the time but I came to realise after a while that every stupid thing I had ever done – of which there were many – occurred when I was in a drunken state. I will endeavour to tell you of a few of these escapades in the coming months if you would like to hear about them. The other thing that straightened my bad ways out was Marion, so I suppose the choice to be good was taken out of my hands.
Now I only go out drinking twice a year: Karting Day and the big boys christmas party (aka The Five O’clock Club Christmas Party). Apart from those sacred days I go to the pub on saturday and the occasional wednesday, but I don’t drink because I am driving and can’t afford to lose my licence, or my life for that matter. The lack of alcohol doesn’t stop me having a good time though.
This saturday just gone I was in the pub with the usual suspects one of whom was my mate Brian, nicknamed Baggy Bri because he has the great misfortune of supporting West Bromwich Albion who are known as ”The Baggies”, years ago they were called the Throstles after the bird motif on their badge but you don’t care about that and to be honest neither do I. Now Baggy Bri is a lovely bloke but he does tend to swear alot, I’m talking a hell of alot. He also hardly ever smiles so you never know if he’s angry or not. Oh dear, I’m laughing as I type this just thinking about him.
We argue alot over football and I like nothing better than to wind him up so he unleashes one of his legendary abusive tirades. He is from the area of the West Midlands that is known as the Black Country because it was the heart of the Industrial Revolution and with all the factories and mills there everything was covered in soot. He has a very strong Black Country accent so I have to translate, I’ll put the English translation in brackets for you.
We were watching football in the pub and I was winding him up about The Baggies dropping down the league and our lot passing them on the way up. He was being particulary abusive back to me: Yow f****** whay theeya a minute, weem finish above yow lot last f****** yeeah so yoom cun f*** roit off. (You wait there a minute, my team finished above yours last season so there.)
Me: Yes you did but we’ve been having a rough couple of seasons due to managerial problems, what’s your excuse for being useless for the past hundred years?
BB: Yum dow ava f****** clue dowya? Yowm nuvvin burra buncha f****** w******, wim berra thun yow any day ada f****** wik. (You don’t have a clue do you? You’re nothing but a bunch of…, we are better than you any day of the week.)
Me: Yeah, except saturdays eh?
BB: ******** **** ******* *****! (I must apologise, he went way too Black Country with this sentence so I’m really not sure what he said at this point.)
Me: Tell you what though, there’s a part time job going in town if you fancy it?
BB: I werk too many f****** hours ayit is. Goo on then worris it? (I work too many hours as it is, go on then what is it?)
Me: They want someone to be Santa Claus down at the co-op department store. You’d be just the sort they’d be looking for: “Can I have a train set Santa?” “No, f*** off!”
Everyone was in bits laughing except Baggy Bri who looked less than amused.
BB: Yum cun goo f*** yumsen!