Well, we proper fucked this week up...
As I type this, sat opposite the old man in our local, Ye Olde Cock in Cider (have a look here at https://www.facebook.com/yeoldecockincider ), we are both off for a week, as we had made some grandiose plans to tour the south west of England, with the purpose of knocking off a few pubs on the list...
But due to our impeccable ability to fuck up a good c.... anyway, lets just say, if you need a piss up in a brewery, don't ask me, Pops, or the national health to help organize it....
Yeah, proper pissed off about what happened and how it happened, and I'm gonna whinge about it, but we really ought to finish off our bit about the Kings Head first.
We finished last time with the band wrapping up and the pub crowd thinning out. We'd had a reasonable night (even with my miserable fizzog) but hadn't really had the chat with the locals as we like to.
While we'd still got a full pint and there were still people in, I went out the back for a fag and got talking to a lad in his early twenties. The conversation turned to why we were there and he was really interested, and he also new quite a bit of local history. So I took him back inside and introduced him to Clint.
I got a shaky selfie with the lead singer of The Endings, (I love meeting bands after gigs. Me and pops went to see a blues band in Notts, and the support group, a metal band, blew the fucking roof off! I went to say hello after they finished their set, only to find the lead singer was a gamer like me, {after he recognized my Videogame t-shirt} and he seemed genuinely impressed that we were happy with them) then Dad appeared with some young lad in tow, and this lad proved to be quite the font on local knowledge....
"DAD!!! what did that lad tell us?"
Buggered if I can remember! It had been a long day and we had a good chat but I don't recall him telling us anything we hadn't already heard, but it was nice to meet a young man who had a genuine interest in local history.
Anyway, we also had another chat with the landlord and he was a bit more forthcoming this time, although, again, he didn't really tell us anything we didn't know. But it was a nice end to the night and I cheekily asked the landlord for a memento of the evening, and I talked him into giving me an optic bracket. Which sits behind me on the shelf of Ye Olde Cock in Cider with a bottle of (nearly empty) Jack Daniels in it. Happy Days!!
I remember now! He was a nice bloke.... And that's all I remember... (sorry random nice bloke in Shrewsbury) . Anyway, with Pete, Medieval Graffiti, Dinnertime Drunk Dad, Miserable "wanttoslaphismiserablechops" night-time Dad, foot-tapping bands, and random bouncy head-butting the ceiling Irish jig music fans, it was another stellar YOIS night out...
Oh, something I do remember, random Shrewsbury nice guy told me that part of the 1980's version of Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" was filmed in Shrewsbury, and arguably the most famous part of the story was when Ebeneezer visits his own grave, and the film crew got permission to engrave Ebeneezer Scrooges name into an unidentifiable gravestone in the churchyard of one of the many places of worship in Shrewsbury, that had lain there for decades and where it still resides to this day, and me not wanting to miss a photo op, went straight there the next day...
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| The Prettier side of House Gardner posing by the Scrooge Grave |
All in all, it was a good trip and we highly recommend Shrewsbury.
So, back to why I'm pissed off. Me and my son had planned to have a week away, taking in Somerset, Devon and Cornwall doing three pubs on our list. We'd booked the time off work and booked some of the accommodation. The rest was going to be camping.
Two or three weeks before we were due to go (On the 27th of July) I had a letter from the hospital which said my hip replacement was going to be carried out on the 20th of July. I immediately rang Clint and told him I wouldn't be able to go on the trip. He suggested I cancel my op, but I said, if I'd gotta have three months off, I'd prefer to have the summer off than the autumn or winter.
On the Monday morning I went to work and told the powers that be that I would be having my op in two weeks and all was good.
Until the site manager said " You wanna check to see if you're entitled to sick pay"
To cut a long story short, I'm not.
Not until the middle of September. Cos I had three months off last year.
So, I rang the hospital and cancelled the operation (I can't afford three months off on just statuary sick pay). I then rang my son, Clint, and said that I could go after all.
He'd just got off the phone after cancelling the accommodation.
Bollocks.
Which is why we are sitting in Ye Olde Cock in Cider on a Tuesday night. Still, could be worse. We could be sat in the front room watching whatever shite is on the telly.
Couldn't we????
Right.... time for a beer.... Cheers!!!
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