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Little Man

For me, 2012 was quite a turbulent year. In fact, I'm sure that a flight through gravel would make for a considerably smoother experience. The year was full of highs and lows. The lows were close to seeing me six feet under, the highs were induced by herbs. The year held so much promise, it began with a fantastic career opportunity, which I blew. I blew it with less effort than Pavarotti diminishing a candle.


This was a year that would see me be made homeless, twice. This was a year that produced enemies. I was a villain. To this day members of my own family still do not talk to me. On a particular wet fart of a day, I lost family, my job, friends, my home and two girlfriends. Yes. Two girlfriends.

I'm not looking for your sympathy. If you haven't already guessed, I don't deserve it. I was quite the bastard. Neither am I using this as a form of viral counselling, secretly thinking that sharing this with you will some how lighten my ever increasing emotional car crash of a load. They say that bottling up emotions, including guilt, isn't good for you. So, actually, I suppose I have subconsciously used you for my own selfish therapeutic needs. In admitting that of course, I am showing that I am, in fact, very much conscious of the fact.

In truth, I'm adding dramatic effect with an extraordinarily unnecessary build up to a story. I'm afraid I won't be quenching the thirst that you may now have for more information and finer details of the build up. If you want gossip, close this page now. Head to the shop and pick up a copy of 'heat', 'whisper', 'get-a-life' or what ever gobble of dribble that takes your fancy.

If you didn't just go rummaging down the sides of your sofa looking for change to take to the shop, you may be interested to know that this story happened in the small village of Sawston, Cambridgeshire.

I was living there for the latter part of the year working in a cute country pub owned by my family. Just over a week before the day in question, there was a death. The gentleman who passed away was to the village what Great Uncle Bulgaria was to the wambles. Essentially the Papa Smurf of Sawston.

The wake of his funeral was held at the idyllic country pub where I worked. You would have been forgiven for thinking that this was a state funeral. People were literally lining the streets. Working the bar that day was manic! The que was constantly at least four deep and the bar was massive.

An old gentlemen proudly displaying his colours of war on his chest rattled and shook his way to the bar. He asked a colleague (who we will call Tom) for a bottle WKD Blue. Tom stopped in his tracks. Looked at the bereaved old man and through a frown, said,

"WKD Blue? For you? But, you’re ancient!"

I took Tom aside and had a stern word, apologised to veteran and promised that nothing like this will happen again.

"That's OK lad, don't mention it."

I asked if I could get him anything else, he turned to a young boy who was dressed equally impressive. The boy was wearing a kilt, complete with sporran and sgian dubh. The man nods at the boy and tilts his head towards me. I make eye contact with the boy and greet him with a warm smile. The boy looks up and down the bar, scratches his chin, looks up and says,

"I'll have a pint of Guinness, please."

I smiled and gave a polite chuckle. The awkwardness that followed soon brought me to the conclusion that he was being serious. Light heartedly I say,

"Sorry little man, but I'm going to have to see some ID. Are you old enough?"

The boys face dropped. The old man snapped his gaze in my direction. The boy says,

"I'm 28."



"And my name is Sarah."

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Hello ladies and gentlemen, my name is Dale.

First of all, please accept my apologies. I have been meaning to write this blog for quite some time. Sadly, modern day life has, until now, got in the way. Well, I say life, watching TV and lounging around eating chocolate has had the considerable majority of my attention of late. Then again constant checking of Facebook in the hope of a notification, be it a comment or a ‘like’, hasn’t helped. Facebook is the bane of my life. I’m addicted, always wondering when I will get my next digital fix..More


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