Bien venue. Or so they may say in France. Correct my spelling and I'll kill you. Things are a little tense this side of the bar. Roughly fourteen hours ago it seemed like a very good idea to go and play snooker. Still does, but I think there's a reasonable chance that your barman is actually dead. Ellmore James is singing The Sky Is Crying, bless him. On the jukebox there have been a lot of Scottish Beatles, courtesy of the Royal Oak, and the usual melancholy shit. Your barman has been on another barman's holiday, revisiting Edinburgh for chuckles and drinks. Absolutely nowhere compares with Auld Reekie for drinking, and of course the legendary Quicksilver Kid was in charge of the ceremonies. Drinking in teams is a wonderful use of a Friday night, and drinking on your own doesn't deserve it's bad press, but neither compare to the very special amusement of having a drinking partner. I'm very glad that the show went well, glad we sat a few paces from your home and drank and smoked, glad the conversational cabin fever kicked in, glad we ate like gluttons and went out on the piss, glad the sun turned up and glad there's still time and money to be squandered by two old fools who refuse to know better.
There's a lot of philosophical questions amongst the rucks in the rucksack, but in the interests of keeping one of you two awake, instead of asking them I'm going to let you eavesdrop on events on the business side of the bar. Tonight we're talking about infidelity. We had to get around to it eventually. Ha! Hear that, Pete? That was the sound of our dozen customers sucking their breath suddenly. Calm down, gentle imbibers. We all do it, and in the best traditions of English adultery, no names, dates, positions or clinic appointments will be disclosed. 'Cept for you, filmstar. You motherfucker.
There's a lot of lies told about the delights of fidelity, and it's time we heard what the regulars have to say. I believe we'll let Mr Once-A-Month and the new guy explain.
"First of all. Why do men ask so obsessively about what went on?"
The new guy pulls hard on his scotch.
"Do you mean after someone's confessed that they've been putting out for other guys?"
"Exactly."
"Secrets, that's what it is. Incredibly, although we've been grinding away at each other for many thousands of years, we seem to accept this fucked-up idea that there's this great intimate secret about being in bed with someone. There's still an element of surprise and sacredness, in people's heads at least. This is part of the appeal of porn. Control, openness. S'like prostitutes used to hang around gin joints and their appeal wasn't just the nookie, but the fact that you could have a joke and a swig with them, unlike your wife, dig?"
"I've always wanted to do porn biographies. You know, in magazines and shit, take out all that 'Janet is from Newcastle and she likes it a bit rough,' put in 'Donna from Manchester is lonely and suffers from chronic back pains because of her implants. Her father used to call her his 'little whore' and since starring in 'Bottom Dwellers III' she has suffered from rectal bleeding and an irritating vaginal discharge.' Fuck with people's heads a little."
"Why spoil it? Anyway, you might find that people like it. No depths, dude."
"Sorry, didn't mean to moralise."
"Okey. We should send our own in to girls. You know, "Mr Once-A-Month is from the Brick Town and his teeth don't fit his mouth very well. He has a girlfriend in the process of leaving him, debts like a sunny country and he sweats constantly. He collects beermats, telephone numbers he has no use for and bronchial carcinomas."
"Beautiful."
They got off the point pretty quickly. I tried to bring it up again, with no success.
"Fact is, as far as I can see from this side of the bar, it's not really something you talk about. It's something you do. Whether it's lies or freedom depends on whether you're drinking on your own or out getting your cock wet."
"You're an asshole when you drink, Mike," Mr. Once-A-Month told me cheerfully.
"Man, you're an asshole when I drink as well," I reply.
Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. And sometimes you have to be cruel just to pass the time. 'Night.