A game of football.
A game of football with some beer.
A game of football with some beer and ex-pats.
There was a winner in there somewhere.
I had read about this bar in the tourist guide book and it sounded very homely.
The book stated that the bar had Sky TV and staff who spoke English along with all the normal beers you got in a UK pub. That meant there was Guinness, Strongbow, Heineken and the Polish beers. They also served an all day Irish breakfast.
The bar looked sufficiently like The Queen Vic to call itself a proper British pub and as I mentally flipped a coin about what to drink I came down firmly on the side of Guinness. It was a good decision and even though it was more than double the price of a Polish larger, it was worth it.
I asked the bartender about the football and he put it on a projector screen behind me. The pub was empty except for a few skinheads and their Barbie girls. The barman brought me a menu and an ashtray. I had to return to the bar shortly after I had gotten comfortable because as good as everything else was, there was no sound at all. The bartender rectified that and a booming surround sound kicked into action shaking the windows.
“Down a tad.” I suggested.
He grunted.
I made flamboyant hand gestures that I had intended to indicate turning the music down but more than likely it looked as if I was performing a forgotten rain summoning ritual.
I returned to my seat and was beginning to get adjusted to it when I heard an unmistakably Middle England accent. I turned around to observe a man dressed in tweed whose long grey hair was flowing over his brown rimmed glasses.
“I said, are you deaf?” He looked as if he was talking to me. He was certainly approaching me.
I shook my head.
He then turned to the barman and shouted something at him in Polish. A moment later the sound was much quieter but still audible. I turned my back to him and was glad to see Andy Gray and Richard Keys chewing the fat over the upcoming match.
“Am Giles.” The man in tweed said sitting down next to me. “I own the place. If you haven’t eaten, a lot of our regulars love the all-day Irish breakfast.”
“Actually I was thinking about the chicken burger.” I said.
“Whatever. So are you a Spurs man?” He asked. It was Spurs vs Man U that was going to be shown.
“Not really. Am a Leeds fan.” I said. Instantly he’d assume that I was a Spurs fan today but the only team I hated were Liverpool.
“I’d keep that quite in here son. You are about to be overrun with Reds.” He patted my shoulder lifting himself out of his chair then he went to sit with the skinheads and Barbie girls.
Elly had come with me but then slinked off to go shopping before we arrived at the bar. She promised to come and rescue me after she was done but once she asked when the football finished I knew I wouldn’t see her until the final whistle. It would have been nice to have had company, I just played on my phone. A type of Tetris with colours.
I drunk another Guinness before kickoff.
Slowly the bar began to fill up with English speaking patrons. I sheepishly looked around and saw mainly middle aged, beer bellied guys who sat at the bar and flirted with the waitresses as the barman waited to take their order. After flirting they made their way to the tables around me and sagged down into the hard wooden chairs.
“Who’s playing?” One asked me.
“Man U and Spurs.” I said helpfully.
“Ha ha. No. Who is in the team?” A table of three chubby, unshaven guys cracked different jokes between themselves about me.
I ran through the teams and subs and told them that fuck all had happened yet.
They asked what I was doing there, so I told them. I asked them the same question. It seemed to me that they thought I was a mug. They ran through their imaginary CV’s and I wondered who these jokers were. Telling me that they were CEO’s or managing directors, I might have been young and I did feel young amongst these dinosaurs but I wasn’t stupid.
At half time I grabbed another Guinness and returned to my Tetris knock-off.
The Masters of the Universe left me alone, thankfully. The second half was about to kick off and I needed to answer nature because when she comes calling you don’t want her to leave a message. I looked around but I couldn’t see a toilet. I got out of my seat and walked around the bar. Still nothing.
I stood at the bar patiently and by now it was heaving. I was going to lose my seat. I could feel it. All these Johnny come lately’s. I tried to grab the bartender’s attention.
Fuck.
I was hopping around now and even throwing in a little jig as I tried to hold myself threw my pocket. I felt my left eye beginning to twitch and spied a tree outside. I could go but I’d never be allowed back.
What was I supposed to do?
I started to edge out of the bar. No big strides just in case.
Another round of twitching and jiggling.
“There is a bathroom outside and round the corner on the right.” A round and smiley woman told me.
I nodded to her and waited for her to waddle past before bursting out the doors and to my right.
“Golden.” I half sighed as I spotted the little man in the middle of the blue circle on the white door.
The relief was palpable. The stream didn’t want to end, so I just let it flow.
Finally the storm river turned into a few drops and then everything was dry and the sun was out.
I felt great striding back into the bar and I located my pint and coat safely next to the table of nobheads. I was quickly joined by the Buddha who had just saved me.
“Mind if I sit here?” She asked cheerily.
“Be my guest.” I said. “Am James.” I said extending my hand.
“You washed that didn’t you?” She smiled.
I thought of the old joke about the marines and the SAS, where the marine complains about the SAS guy not washing his hand to which he answers,
‘We’re trained not to piss on ours.’
It didn’t seem the time so I just nodded. She was followed over by another guy I assumed was her boyfriend or husband.
“Alright fella, am Gordon.” He said grabbing my outstretched hand. He sounded Liverpudlian. Fucking Scousers.
“James.” I repeated then looked at the mystery women. She was now attentively watching the game.
Gordon pulled up on the other side of me to the woman, maybe they weren’t together. He too ignored small talk and was instantly out of his seat swearing at a bad decision from the linesman which had allowed Man United to slip in and score the opening goal.
“You’re not a scum are you?” Gordon asked me.
“Erm, no. Not Manchester. Not a Manchester fan.” I muttered.
“Oh, that’s a shame. I am.” The women said. She looked at Gordon and raised both hands with her fingers displaying the very British ‘V’ sign and laughed at him.
Maybe that is why they wanted a gooseberry.
The game ended 1-0. The party was just starting and as the noise level rose I missed several calls from Elly. It turns out she was just calling to say that a shopping emergency had delayed her and I could come to find her if I wanted to. As I headed out to the toilet again and found her messages and tried to call her. As I unbuttoned my jeans with one hand and dialled with another I saw her emerge from round a corner. She was saddled with bags but looking very pleased with herself.
“Just a second, I need a slash.” I went to the toilet and returned to her wiping my wet hands in the arm pits of my shirt. “What did you get?”
“Just what I needed.” She replied. “Can we go?”
“Don’t you fancy a drink?”
“Not in there.” She shuddered.
“How about you sit down and I’ll bring us some drinks out.” I said pointing to a round Heineken table with a massive green parasol overshadowing it. “What do you fancy?”
“Whatever you are drinking.” She said nonchalantly.
“Guinness.” I told her, asked her.
She said the Polish beer that I couldn’t pronounce. It began with a Z but the sound wasn’t zed or zee. I could point it out though and that was all the barman needed. I invited the Scouse and Manc fan out to join us.
They declined.
I was glad.
“Did you have fun?” I asked.
“It was essential.” She answered. “You?”
“I guess. I met a couple who were quite funny. Better than most of those nobheads anyway.” I answered. In truth I was glad to be out of the bar and if I hadn’t loved football as much as I did I doubt I would have returned.
“You must introduce me.” She announced and gathered her bags.
We finished our drinks then went inside to find them with a group of other ex-pats. Elly charmed the barman into stowing her ‘essentials’ behind the bar and we spent the next few hours hearing only English.
I realised how much I missed it. I needed an ally. I needed another Englishman to laugh with about the quirks of Polish life and in among the bullshit I think I might have found the guy.