Memoirs of a bar steward: Thurs 24th August 2000

Thurs 24th August 2000

1811 HRS

My plan today was to sit in the office and work out every last fine detail of what I’m gonna do when I’m inside the Queens Legs tomorrow. I’ve gotta slip in undetected, get what I want, then pull out fast! It’s such a great plan, I’m almost giddy with excitement because it is gonna feel great doing it, even though someone like me shouldn’t have to go into such a shit hole. God my family don’t deserve me and my brilliance. After yesterday I almost felt like saying bollocks to the pub, bollocks to the lot’em. Let’em roll in the shit they make for themselves, but then I remember that I’m not doing this for them, this is for me. Tomorrow is when my Empire grows like a beautiful flower out of compost. Though it’s quite hard for such a wonderful rose to grow when the shit keeps getting piled on.

Every two minutes there was a knock at the office door. First Curly asking for a hand with the beer delivery (really, would a maid ask a King for a hand serving the dinner?), so I told him not to be so bleedin cheeky and bugger off. Then Miller rung down to the office phone and asked me for some money to make the fat woman in his bed go away (he swore he never knew she was a prossy). I had Clint badgering me every two minutes about his crappy Karaoke contest. He wanted to discuss what sort of ad we should put in the local paper and how we should organize the event. I didn’t have time for his stupid little plans, not when I have a proper master plan to sort out! Then there was Marie. She didn’t knock on my door. In fact she was very quiet today, which worried me even more. All day I saw her on my CCTV, sat huddled in the corner of the pub, but she wasn’t on her own. It seems Marie has a new little friend, a little ginger head lad. White as ice cream, he has the kinda dead blue eyes you would see in a horror film. The sight of the pair of them hunched over a piece of paper finally got the better of me and so I went out to inspect what they were up to. Maria, being as sharp as a vicious cat, quickly noticed me coming and I saw her snatch the paper in front of her, into her fist.

“You two okay?” I kindly asked

“Fuck off spac face” came the charming response from my little sister. Many times I have wondered if I could convince a court that I was not a child abuser if I punched the little fecker in the head, but British justice being what it is I thought I’d best not try my luck and so let her remark go. I turned to the boy and asked him if he would like a drink (best treat him nice, then he can tell his family what a lovely pub his new friends family has). He didn’t say anything; he just seemed to stare at me with pant shitting frightened eyes.

“Come on Macky, we’re going outside now!” my sister shouted to the little boy. She jumped off of her chair and darted out of the front door, with the strange little lad quickly following after her. For the rest of the day I saw the pair on my office CCTV coming in and out of the pub, the whole time Marie’s new friend seemed glued to her side, though he looked like he didn’t actually wanna be anywhere near her. I’ll have to keep an eye on her, cos no one else will. I’m sure she is up to no good.

About Memoirs of a bar steward

Jacob Cox is 18 and finds himself running his family's new business, a dilapidated bar in a forgotten seaside town. Jacob longs to escape his family of villains, liars and psychopaths. Could the bar be his last chance to make money and get away from everyone he despises? Is his family really that bad or is he actually worse than all of them put together?

To make the business a success he needs help from his dangerous twin brother Miller, his disastrous best friend Curly and his annoyingly cool younger brother Clint. It's a perilous undertaking with monstrous foes and maybe even love (or just deadly sex). If his con artist father, gang member mother, and his sinister little sister Marie don't destroy his plans, maybe, just maybe he can escape.

A screwball comedy about a dysfunctional family who need each other to survive.

SAMPLE BLOG ENTRY:

Saturday 19th August 2000

1542 Hrs

THE MEETING

Dad should be French. He gives up too easily. He spends too much time feeling sorry for himself, and not enough time doing anything useful. He woke me up early this morning at 10am to tell me that he was calling a critical family meeting this afternoon (secret from Mom of course) at 1 o‟clock, because he had something very important to discuss with all of the family. Dad of course didn‟t really have the authority to call meetings about my business but I thought I would indulge him; he might surprise me and have something useful to say.

“Last night I learnt new information which caused me to **** my pants”. Well done Dad, what a great way to start a business conference, I should use that line when I‟m in Parliament in a few years. He went on to explain to Miller, Clint and Curly what the late Bertie and Antony had told me and him before they killed each other last night (basically that the pub makes **** all money).

“I‟ve got enough dough to keep this place running for roughly a month. If it isn‟t making any money by the end of that period, then we‟re ****ed. We‟re gonna lose the business, we‟re gonna lose the roof over our heads and I‟m gonna lose….well we‟re all going to lose our shot at the good life. What I want from you lot are ideas to get the punters and the money rolling in”

I tried to tell Dad that he was worrying for no reason, that I had a Masterplan but he wasn‟t having any of it. He said that he wanted us all to go off and have a good, long, hard think. He has called another meeting (yet again he stressed, no word to Mom about it) for 3 o‟clock tomorrow, where he wants to hear what we have come up with. He said he will be picking only one idea and then we all must concentrate our combined efforts on it. Well if it makes the Umpa Loompas feel like they are contributing, then I suppose it will make for a happier chocolate factory, but I‟m sure everyone will see that I am the big Willy Wonka here!

Memoirs of a bar steward

Thurs 24th August 2000

No comments:

Post a Comment