It was raining today so the pub was dead. Thankfully that meant I didn’t have to put up with Kung Fu Phil crashing around the kitchen in a temper, as Dad told him not to bother coming in today.
I spent all afternoon wishing someone would actually come into the pub and have a drink, but then I wished I hadn’t when the most boring bugger in the whole world came plodding in and super-glued himself to a barstool for over three hours! Miller was in bed, Clint was in town getting some Karaoke CD’s and Curly was down the cash n carry with Dad, so I was bleedin stuck with this train obsessed dwarf, who was as welcomed as diarrhea in the local swimming baths. I felt like a whore. Now I know how a prozzie must feel. There I was, bored shitless, but I still had to smile and pretend I was happy with this dickhead’s company! I hope he never comes back.
Anyway, forget that. After the twatty imp fucked off I decided to kill some time by cleaning the bar. Not a job I should be doing but I was so bored! I began removing some old photos that had been taken before we took over the pub, when I saw my Winky on one of them. I instantly tore it off of the wall and examined it intensely. Her beautiful smile, heavenly blue eyes, made me go all goose bumpily and light at once. It must have been a taken recently because she had the exact same top on as she did on Sunday night. The photo is just of her alone, waving and smiling at whoever is taking the picture. More importantly the photo is of her inside this pub! Is she a local? Does she come in here often? Maybe I will see her again! This is the happiest I have felt since I’ve moved down here.
Clint just brought in the local newspaper, The Torquay Express, to show me. On the front page is a grainy black and white CCTV image of a man in a nightclub. Basically the article said that the Police are looking for a flasher who exposed himself in Café Rouge on Sunday night. He is approx 5’7, slim with short brown hair and has a Brummy accent. It then said if you saw him, or have any information about this man, please ring this number: 01803 322 8333.
The reason Clint was showing me the paper was because he claims that it is me in the photograph. Bollocks. They’re going too far with this Hank joke now! The man in the picture could be anyone, and loads of the people in Torquay are from Birmingham, Liverpool, Newcastle and Scotland, so the accent thing proves nothing!
However, I think I might grow a beard, so that I fit in better at the Queens Legs on Friday. I’ll get that scruffy look going, so that I’m totally unrecognizable.