8. Meryl Kristallnacht
Christmas comes but once a year for most but for the regulars of the Salisbury it is celebrated twice. Rather like our beloved Queen having a second birthday. The first Christmas is celebrated in June when there is a fair-to-middling chance of good weather.
The bar area is bedecked with tinsel, baubles, mistletoe, a plastic skull left over from Halloween and assorted celebratory paraphernalia. The bar staff are dressed in black elf outfits and serve the merry throng with alacrity, the latest festive batch from the basement micro brewery. The effect is "Nightmare Before Christmas" meets "It's a Wonderful Life".
The rowdy bunch of Santa's Slaves around the pool table consume copious cups of Alacrity. with Gusto. Gusto is the brand name of the vodka-like drink produced in the secret still in the void between the Salisbury and the adjacent business premises, "Pauline's Performing Poetic Prozzies".
The door swings open, accompanied by a gust of chill air and snowflakes in sweeps Meryl Kristallnacht. Meryl comes but once a year, always on this day and everyone is thankful for that. Tall and angular he cuts a swathe through the patrons striding to the bar. The Slaves ar the pool table fall strangely quiet. The jukebox is muted. The fat bloke from the quiz machine stirs from his slumber at the end of the bar and decides this is a good time to visit the gents.
"A LARGE EGG-NOG PLEASE BARTENDER. PUT A VERY LARGE BRANDY IN IT."
The voice chills to the bone. It reverberates with disused, ancient cemeteries. It hints at cobwebs and ivy. If a charnel house could speak this is how it would sound.
Ethelred, the latest temporary landlord draws the drink and nervously places it on the bar in front of him. "Good evening sir, just finished for the night?" he wheedles. All of the customers hold their breath. The only sound to be heard is the muffled evacuation of the bowels of fat bloke in the gents.
"YES. I HAVE HAD A VERY BUSY TIME THIS YEAR. ONE OR TWO STRAGGLERS BUT HERE IS MY DOWN TIME. SAME AGAIN. PLEASE"
The relief is tangible. There is a mass unclenching of anuses. The jukebox springs back into voice, albeit a little quieter this time.
"THANK YOU BARTENDER. NOW I MUST TAKE MY LEAVE. I HAVE AN URGENT APPOINTMENT WITH AUBERGENE 'MAD-DOG' MCSPADDEN OF 'THE FLYING DEATH METAL MONKEYS OF DEATH' TONIGHT. I SHOULD NOT BE LATE." "IT REALLY WOULD NOT DO FOR US BOTH TO BE LATE"
The click of feet on stone accompanies the click of customers logging on to their online gambling accounts as Meryl climbs back into the saddle and takes off for somebody's eternity.
The bar area is bedecked with tinsel, baubles, mistletoe, a plastic skull left over from Halloween and assorted celebratory paraphernalia. The bar staff are dressed in black elf outfits and serve the merry throng with alacrity, the latest festive batch from the basement micro brewery. The effect is "Nightmare Before Christmas" meets "It's a Wonderful Life".
The rowdy bunch of Santa's Slaves around the pool table consume copious cups of Alacrity. with Gusto. Gusto is the brand name of the vodka-like drink produced in the secret still in the void between the Salisbury and the adjacent business premises, "Pauline's Performing Poetic Prozzies".
The door swings open, accompanied by a gust of chill air and snowflakes in sweeps Meryl Kristallnacht. Meryl comes but once a year, always on this day and everyone is thankful for that. Tall and angular he cuts a swathe through the patrons striding to the bar. The Slaves ar the pool table fall strangely quiet. The jukebox is muted. The fat bloke from the quiz machine stirs from his slumber at the end of the bar and decides this is a good time to visit the gents.
"A LARGE EGG-NOG PLEASE BARTENDER. PUT A VERY LARGE BRANDY IN IT."
The voice chills to the bone. It reverberates with disused, ancient cemeteries. It hints at cobwebs and ivy. If a charnel house could speak this is how it would sound.
Ethelred, the latest temporary landlord draws the drink and nervously places it on the bar in front of him. "Good evening sir, just finished for the night?" he wheedles. All of the customers hold their breath. The only sound to be heard is the muffled evacuation of the bowels of fat bloke in the gents.
"YES. I HAVE HAD A VERY BUSY TIME THIS YEAR. ONE OR TWO STRAGGLERS BUT HERE IS MY DOWN TIME. SAME AGAIN. PLEASE"
The relief is tangible. There is a mass unclenching of anuses. The jukebox springs back into voice, albeit a little quieter this time.
"THANK YOU BARTENDER. NOW I MUST TAKE MY LEAVE. I HAVE AN URGENT APPOINTMENT WITH AUBERGENE 'MAD-DOG' MCSPADDEN OF 'THE FLYING DEATH METAL MONKEYS OF DEATH' TONIGHT. I SHOULD NOT BE LATE." "IT REALLY WOULD NOT DO FOR US BOTH TO BE LATE"
The click of feet on stone accompanies the click of customers logging on to their online gambling accounts as Meryl climbs back into the saddle and takes off for somebody's eternity.
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