Tuesday 26 November. Jim’s first attempt at drinking at a pub with his heavy drinking football playing compadres. His first major showdown. Would he survive…………
It was a cold, dark evening. Jim knew this was a showdown. One man, armed only with a bottle of AF beer was taking on the the fearsome 9 man posse known as “Los BARRACHOS” or “ The drunkards” as they were known is this part of wild Essex (cue Sergio Leone soundtrack).
It wasn’t going to end well for one party and Jim knew the odds were stacked against him. Los Barrachos we’re heavily armed; lager, bitter and most sneakily of all, Jim’s former friend, Gintonic. There they were, lined up on the table mocking Jim’s feeble looking excuse for a beer.
The 9 men appeared to be friendly but Jim was on his guard. He knew that when he wasn’t looking one of them might try and slip him a beer. Jim stayed alert. He entered the bar and a hush descended across the room. Jim heard a whisper, “Apparently Jim’s not drinking, do you think he’s gone a bit funny in the head?”
Jim swung round , “That’s right amigos I’m not drinking alcohol, and it will be a brave hombre that tries to buy me some!” One of the Barrachos reached for his glass. “Not so quick, my friend,” and with that Jim grabbed his AF beer and lifted it to his lips. He gulped the golden liquid, wiped his lips. First blood to Jim. One of the Barrachos stood up.
“Bloody hell guys he means it, Jim’s not drinking real beer!” Immediately two of the posse fainted on the spot, two reached for their beers and drunk their entire pints in one long swig. Another, one of Jim’s former drinking compadres had tears in his eyes.
“But Jim, you were our leader, you showed us how to really drink. You were the first to say stupid things, the first to inappropriately chat up the bar maid, your hangovers were the stuff of legend, what’s to become of us now, oh Jim please just have a fucking drink!”
Jim was unmoved. He surveyed the bar. The two men were still flat out on the floor from shock, there were looks of disbelief, lots of tears and some anger.
It was carnage.
Jim stood still and proud. He’d won. He was resolute. Jim didn’t want the glory or to gloat in his victory. One the Barrachos gave a knowing smile, the look one man gives another when conceding defeat. He reached out his hand to Jim. Jim looked him in the eye, acknowledged the gesture and shook hands. It was over. No blood was spilt and Jim had found a way to co exist with Los Barrachos on their own turf. One man. One AF beer. A show down to defy belief. This was a day that would be talked about for a few minutes. Jim knew he had to mark the ocassion.
“Anyone fancy some crisps?”
(Fade music with a lingering shot on Jim’s slightly smug face)