I’m a bar manager, hear my roar!

August 7, 2009 at 12:57 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , )

I have found the secret to gaining the life enhancing skills of over exerted arrogance the rudeness. All you have to do to believe you have the power of God is become the manager of a down trodden pub in a mediocre area managing a bunch of misfits and students for a wonderful salary of 25k.  

Why this frustration’ I hear you cry. Well let me start with the fact that I love bars and have never had any problems in any drinking hole before. Leciester Square, Soho, Clapham the list goes on of upmarket trendy areas, all happy to pour tasty ethanol down my neck. So you can imagine my horror when an unfortunate manager of a down trodden Weatherspoons in an ‘up and coming’ area of West London felt obliged to throw me out of his 60s reject pub because I was underage and drunk.

If true, this occurrence would have been fine, however, his reasoning was that 1) I had already been asked to leave once. Not true, another member of our table was asked to leave. No two people could look more different unless one of us sprouted a penis. Eye colour, skin colour, height all completely contrasting; easy mistake to make I’m sure. 2) I had been refused service already. Also not true, I was on my third glass of cheap rose all served to me by him. 3) I was clearly drunk as my eyes were red and glazed. I had been up since 4.30 am and the time was now 9pm, of course my eyes were red and glazed, it’s a human mechanism for stopping tired eyes from drying out.

After putting up a good fight and giving quick answers to all his accusations he was clearly not listening and told me my argumentative nature was also a sign that I was highly intoxicated. Fair enough, what I said next perhaps did not help my cause and most certainly cannot be repeated on here but his ignorance and stubborn attitude lost him 12 peoples drinking budget for the evening.

This sort of happening is humiliating at the best of times but being thrown out of a ale stenched, lifeless bar when suitably sober and 6 years legal by management that need some serious amiable etiquette training, seriously takes the biscuite. The manager was clearly just asserting his authority, probably jealous of my youth and prospects. Worst of all, this is the not the first time I have seen this particular manager behave in such a way, so i send out this warning to anybody considering visiting here…..

DO NOT GO HERE!

If you do find yourself in Shepherds bush, there is a lovely bar run by Australian’s next door to the disgraceful Weatherspoons, where they smile and serve JD and coke for £1.50. Go there.

Happy drinking

Sarah Butt (C)

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Sprouting Wisdom

April 14, 2009 at 12:02 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , )

HUNDREDS of toothbrushes warn out, braces endured, fillings bared, your grandparent’s advice of floss finally accepted and your smile is at last, the sparkly and straight master piece you have worked so hard to achieve. Then out of no where, four inconsiderate strangers dig themselves out of you gums and squeeze themselves awkwardly into your already cramped chops.

In theory, extra teeth should mean a better ability to gorge yourself on tasty treats, a backup plan for any teeth destroyed by your love for glucose and ultimately a sure sign that your brain resembles that of Plato.

But if you ask me, if these extra additions are a symbol of wisdom, then I would rather kill a few brain cells and cut my IQ in favour of a happy and pain free existence.

 

Lets weigh up the options. You gain four extra teeth that are near useless since humans evolved from the stone age. Four extra teeth that cause pain, discomfort, severe insomnia and an inability to eat without squirming. Four extra teeth which indirectly could lead to liver damage due to overdosing on useless painkillers and far from promoting intelligence, cause an incapacity to concentrate on anything other than the throbbing white mounds and swollen open sores now taking up the majority of your mouth.

Verses: 32 efficient teeth, pain only caused by ignorance to brushing and a smile that will get a girl bought many a drink by dazzled strangers. No competition.

Of course, it is not just the discomfort and fatigue that needs addressing here. Those lucky individuals who’s mouth has intelligently realised that 32 teeth are just as adequate as 36 will also benefit from greater wealth. Is it not bad enough that you are going through pain resembling that of a terminal illness lacking the help of morphine without the added pressure on your bank balance?

First trip to the dentist, £16 worse off, even sorer after the professional torturer spends 20 minutes mmmming and ahhhing whilst prodding your delicate areas with sharp metal objects. The imposters are still happily causing mayhem amongst the enzymes of your salvia and all you leave with is a time and a date for another appointment.

Second outing to the dentist, £60 worse off, still no competent painkillers and you leave with the knowledge that you will be conscious while they rip open your gums and this will happen in two weeks time. Two weeks!!

Third round, £45 worse off and this sum covers the privilege of titanic sized needles, stitches, gaping holes in already tender gums and one week off work….unpaid.

What happened to the good old days of metal chairs with restraints where dentists strapped you down and pulled your teeth out there and then? I am sure the pain of that one visit would be a welcome relief from the pain of four weeks waiting around for NHS service. Forgetting of course, the  modern invention of local aesthetic!

When all is said and done, the only trophy existing to represent your hike up mount Killer Mouth Jaro is a plastic cylinder containing four unimpressive looking white lumps of hard tissue. What a letdown.

On the bright side, eating, drinking, smiling and sleeping are all back on the cards and you can spend the rest of your days informing others of how you were so intelligent that wisdom started sprouting from your gums. Smile!

 

Sarah Butt (C)  

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The sun has got his hat on!

March 16, 2009 at 2:05 pm (Uncategorized)

THE STREETS are derelict and the shops emptier than a top recession expert could have ever predicted, so where has the 7.5 million population disappeared?

Walk through the gates of any of London’s fine green parks and the answer is clear, Londoners, in their masses, have flocked to the grassy surroundings!  The first sign of sunshine and we go running and with fair reason. When you can only expect two weeks of sunshine a year, every drop of sunlight is to be cherished and savoured!   

After enduring months of wind, snow and showers we Londoners have finally been treated to a spell of sunshine! The shorts are on, the flip flops re-instated and the sunglasses permanently fixed over our vampire delicate eyes! And where better to while away a few hours than in natural surroundings with a glass of white, a French stick and some imported strawberries.

High on vitamin D and giggly from day time alcohol consumption, there is an air of gratification. For a few hours people forget their stressful lives and their faces are overtaken by smiles.  Sure, the ducks, birds, squirrels and geese are a little inconvienienced, but they will be thanking us when they discover the banquet of crums left as a parting gift.

Away from the traffic, crime and clostrophobic tube, the park becomes a tranquil spot with London a distance memory. Of course, there is always some newsreader around to reminded us that parks are a dangerous place. However, I can’t help but feel that the major danger on these sunny days comes from the uncontrolled yuppies on roller blades and the children, who have forgotten how to use the breaks on their bikes after weeks of rain. Give me these hazzards anyday over the black cabs and buses of central London whose drivers who are clearly road blinkered.

No doubt tomorrow there will be a few people wishing they had applied more factor 20. Yet the pink legs and rosy cheeks are a firm reminder that the sun does exist and will give the rest of us suncream conscious few a giggle.

Lets hope this weather lasts a little longer but if not, I will see you at Battersea park for the next two day spell.

Sarah Butt (C)

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The invasion of the 3ft white men!

February 2, 2009 at 5:12 pm (General chat, Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , , , )

AS the song rightly says, ‘since we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow’. There is nothing nicer than waking up confronted by a blanket of pure snow. Problem is, such joy soon turns to misery when you remember, it’s Monday morning and you do have places to be; namely work!

However, getting to work is not simple when the skies are white! Ultimately, London’s transport network, you know the one responsible for carrying thousands of people around the city, is completely destroyed by the pretty little snow flakes. When faced with cancelled buses, severely delayed trains and a suspended tube system it becomes near impossible for stranded commuters to get to the office.

Of course, there is always the option of walking. Not as straightforward as it sounds. Firstly and most obviously, London is no small place. It’s cold and wet and a million disgusting things are lying in wait of your foot under the deceiving cotton wool like substance. If you’re lucky enough to live close to work then by all means a short walk, although still treacherous, is unlikely to kill you, unless of course you come into contact with a swerving black cab who’s driver is convince he is driving the bat-mobile.  

For those of us who’s habitats are a little further afield, such an option is unfeasible. An hour walk in arctic conditions on a continuous ice-rink is hard enough. Concentrating on not falling on your derriere whilst trying to dodge mud ridden balls charmingly thrown from young fingers that have been given the day off to terrorise the adult population, is a definite no no.

So, let’s have a snow day! A good idea in theory and the only option for many, however, when you are stranded in your house with no way of going anywhere, the novelty soon wears off. There are only so many snowmen you can make from a balcony full of snow before you run out of building material or your fingers fall off.

Apparently, the incoming snow has been expected for a while, yet London was still not prepared. How can a capital city in a 1st world capitalist country get it so wrong? Such an error is a blow for businesses everywhere and a hindrance to workers, especially those not credited with absence pay.

The only saviour in all this is the local around the corner. If all else fails, go to the pub. Not only is it a good place to while away a few hours but if the blizzard continues what better place is there to get snowed in? It’s warm, full of alcohol, food and plasma screen televisions. So until the storm passes, bottoms up.  

Sarah Butt ©

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