a LION RED, please!
I bought a beer at a race-track once...
This statement is not so surprising in itself except, to say that, I was 12 at the time...
For some unknown reason we, as a family, went to the horse races (never had before, never did after). In addition to my sister S in attendance, there was also my good mate McGoo. As we wombled aimlessly around the interior of the race track Pavilion, completely bored out of our little skulls, we went past the entrance to the members bar (there ain't much to do at a race track if you're 12 years old, can't bet and have less than a passing interest in horses).
As we peered anxiously into this mystical place of adult ritual, we were intrigued by what was going on. We all wanted to go in there, but, as became readily apparent, my younger sister and the ever-practical McGoo were reticent to do so. Captain Fargon, on the other hand, has always been pretty keen to run headlong into walls, so, with a gust of bravado, I declared that i was going in for a beer! As McGoo & S watched on anxiously, I strided manfully up to the bar, head held high - or as high a 4 foot kid can get it anyway!
As I got to the bar, the first thing I noticed was that the height of the bar was a lot higher than I imagined it would be, which did nothing to bolster my confidence. The barmaid seemed in no particular rush to get to my end of the bar, which also helped slow time to a painful, almost impreceptible, crawl.
Finally, she came over to my end of the bar and, with a slightly bemused look on her face, looked me up and down for loooong a minute - well, from nose to forehead which is all that could probably be seen. I held my cool, maintaining her gaze with a steady eye and, eventually, she said "...wadda ya want?"
"A beer!" I firmly declared.
"What sort?" she replied
...and, then, at that very moment in time - I knew I was fucked! I didn't know the name of any beers.
I stood there looking verrry dumb for another eternal period of time, desperately trying to think of the name of a brand of beer. How frustrating - to be this close the goal and, now, the whole charade is torpedoed due to my limited beer knowledge. Breaking her gaze for a moment I looked along the bar to my right and there, a few feet awy, was a bottle of beer with its label pointing my way.
Quickly reading the label I said "a LION RED, please!" (my parents brought me up well, always making me pay my courtesies - even when buying illegal, underage beer).
So, off she went and returned with an ice-cool quart bottle of Lion Red (2 pints or 745ml in modern speak) - which is a lot of drinking for a kid, especially a kid who does not like beer and who, now, really wanted to get the hell out of there. Looking over my shoulder I could still see S & McGoo looking back with a mixture of surprise & pride.
Necking the beer as fast as I could, I got the hell out of there before I got completely busted...
Hmmm, hope my parents don't read this...
This statement is not so surprising in itself except, to say that, I was 12 at the time...
For some unknown reason we, as a family, went to the horse races (never had before, never did after). In addition to my sister S in attendance, there was also my good mate McGoo. As we wombled aimlessly around the interior of the race track Pavilion, completely bored out of our little skulls, we went past the entrance to the members bar (there ain't much to do at a race track if you're 12 years old, can't bet and have less than a passing interest in horses).
As we peered anxiously into this mystical place of adult ritual, we were intrigued by what was going on. We all wanted to go in there, but, as became readily apparent, my younger sister and the ever-practical McGoo were reticent to do so. Captain Fargon, on the other hand, has always been pretty keen to run headlong into walls, so, with a gust of bravado, I declared that i was going in for a beer! As McGoo & S watched on anxiously, I strided manfully up to the bar, head held high - or as high a 4 foot kid can get it anyway!
As I got to the bar, the first thing I noticed was that the height of the bar was a lot higher than I imagined it would be, which did nothing to bolster my confidence. The barmaid seemed in no particular rush to get to my end of the bar, which also helped slow time to a painful, almost impreceptible, crawl.
Finally, she came over to my end of the bar and, with a slightly bemused look on her face, looked me up and down for loooong a minute - well, from nose to forehead which is all that could probably be seen. I held my cool, maintaining her gaze with a steady eye and, eventually, she said "...wadda ya want?"
"A beer!" I firmly declared.
"What sort?" she replied
...and, then, at that very moment in time - I knew I was fucked! I didn't know the name of any beers.
I stood there looking verrry dumb for another eternal period of time, desperately trying to think of the name of a brand of beer. How frustrating - to be this close the goal and, now, the whole charade is torpedoed due to my limited beer knowledge. Breaking her gaze for a moment I looked along the bar to my right and there, a few feet awy, was a bottle of beer with its label pointing my way.
Quickly reading the label I said "a LION RED, please!" (my parents brought me up well, always making me pay my courtesies - even when buying illegal, underage beer).So, off she went and returned with an ice-cool quart bottle of Lion Red (2 pints or 745ml in modern speak) - which is a lot of drinking for a kid, especially a kid who does not like beer and who, now, really wanted to get the hell out of there. Looking over my shoulder I could still see S & McGoo looking back with a mixture of surprise & pride.
Necking the beer as fast as I could, I got the hell out of there before I got completely busted...
Hmmm, hope my parents don't read this...
posted by Captain Fargon at 10:54 pm
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