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By Dennis Rookard We all have our regular local pubs, Somewhere were we're welcome and feel at home in. Mines the Travellers Rest. Now to be fair, for the first timer it's rather hard to find. being off the beaten track in one of the quieter parts of town., being hidden behind the as yet to be fully occupied sixties style shopping mall. But should you venture down New Road, you'll find the Traveler's Rest just tucked in between the United Reform church and the old Court house, just across the road from the Library. True it's not much to look at from the outside, a bit down at heel in fact, and sadly both inside and out, in need of a lick of paint. It's been a week of shocks for those of us who drink in the Traveler's Rest. Late last Saturday for example a pack of roving drunks from the other side of town, we suspect from the King George on a vengeance mission after us winning their pub quiz trophy, stormed down New Road to lob a brick through the window. Caused a fair bit of panic did that, what with everybody being showered with broken glass. And Sue our busty barmaid, fainting behind the bar. It was as Jack was trying to force a little gin and tonic through her lips, that she fluttered her eyelids and smiling up at the rest of us looking down on her ample cleavage, said in that mellow sexy voice of hers, "well what a way to treat a lady in my condition." "And what condition is that then," asked Jerry's, "I'm pregnant," announced the by now fully recovered Sue, smoothing down her mini dress as she stood up. "Your what !, "the entire pub cried as one." Then in the silence that followed, broken only by the sounds of nervous shuffling feet, Fred, The local Journalist as ever sniffing out a good story quietly asked, "and who my dear is the proud daddy to be." Gazing around the white-faced group of regulars, Sue murmured, "Well a lady has to have her little secrets," she smiled sweetly. So now that Sue is, as the saying goes, heavy with child. No less than five of the pub's regulars have been suspected of been responsible. But the betting in the Pub now, is that the proud daddy is long gone. They point to her sudden interest in bird watching, that grew after her friendship with one of a gang of twitchers who invaded the area a month or so back, after old Chalky White, an occasional visitor and member of the local bird watching and wildlife society, casually mentioned. After drowning his third pint of old Trouser Leg Shaker. (A vicious and evil brew that Jack keeps under the counter for professional drinkers,) That he had seen a large strange multi-coloured bird on his daily walk through Shenfield common. Now at the time, we put his ramblings down to his love of the rather potent brew, but after Fred had picked up on the story and splashed it in his local paper, it seemed that within hours you couldn't get into the pub for bird watchers. From all over the county they came, roaring into the town, cluttering up the car parks, blocking the various roads around Shenfield Common, and frightening the locals by leaping from behind trees, walls or bushes, clicking away with their cameras. Soon thousands had arrived, and it was all we could do to get a drink. The strange bird it turned out, was nothing less then a very rare example of the male lesser -potted Hungarian lurker, or some such silly creature. According to one of the anorak clad bird watchers or twitchers as they like to be known, this beast is normally to be found deep in the Hungarian forests, where it finds it's mate by performing a highly unusual lurking courtship display. Don't they all we cried. But this one we told by our Bird watching friends involves the bird, hiding in a bush and waiting for a prospective female to land. At which point the bird flaps it's wings a bit, utters a piercing screech and leaps on to it's selected partner to mate before the other has time to recover. How the stupid bird came to be in Brentwood is still a bit of a mystery. Jerry's maintained it was all due to high winds over the North Sea, but Pete reckoned we just got one of the dumb ones. Not that any of our moaning prevented Sue from vanishing off for long periods of time with her new found friend, a tall lanky twitcher named Cyril. Oh it was love at first sight for Sue all right. Off every day on long walks with Cyril and his little I spy book of birds. Or spending long hours alone with her new found love in his little tent, or hide as he insisted on calling it, watching their lonely visitor leaping out of a bush onto the top of any passing creature. And long romantic nights spent. So she said, waiting for the sun to come up over the trees of Shenfield Common. But their love was not to last. Soon the bird, not we understand a very intelligent creature, figured out that this part of Essex was not the best of place's to find female Hungarian Lurkers, and departed back home. As did a strangely happy Cyril, conveniently forgetting to leave a forwarding address. But Proof positive of who daddy might be, will come if Sue has a Son, and she calls him Cyril. As for old Chalky White, who started all the fuss, He still can be seen wandering the Common and more recently the King Georges playing fields, but he says the next time he spots a strange bird on his patch, he's saying nothing till it's safely on it's way. Seems all those happy evenings with the twitchers almost turned him into a raving alcoholic. As he said the other evening. "Bird watching's a young mans game these days." Just about the only person to come out of the sorry saga with any credit was Fred, who once again managed to flog the story and the activities of the twitchers to a number of his chums in Fleet street for a large amount of dosh, some of which found it's way down our collective throats in the form of Fred donation of a float behind the bar one evening followed by the invitation to the rest of us to keep drinking till the cash ran out. So now we have a new Barmaid behind the bar in the shape of Maggie, a old friend of Sues from way back when the pair of them did for the now long closed White Heart in the high street. Big, blond and busty, she is being shown the ropes by Sue and being informed of all those little tricks of the weekend trade. You know, the things Jack would never dare do on an evening session. Like bunging out the peanuts in little pots on a Sunday and covering the things with a layer of salt so has to make the weekenders thirsty for more ale. Or overcharging for soft drinks, obtained at knock down prices in bulk around at one of the high street supermarkets. As I say we will be very sorry to see the departure of Sue. But as we said when we handed over the giant Teddy Bear to her the other night, once she has found a baby sitter, at least we'll be welcoming her back on our side on them bar for a change. ENDS |
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