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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 is 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. But that's how we like it. Well as Jack, our worthy landlord said when he took down the faded Inn sign the other day. & here I quote "The last thing we want is a pack of strangers filling the place up with their constant demands for bloody cocktails and foreign lagers. Start attracting that lot," he moaned as glass in hand, he eased himself behind the bar, "and they'll start wanting bloody food as well, so far as I'm concerned they can bugger off to the Artichoke." It is for this reason that the only food you'll ever find in the Traveler's Rest are packets of crisps and a jar of arrowroot biscuits along with a few packets of salted nuts. These by the way, created quite a sensation when they first appeared. And all because of a crafty advertising trick on the park of the agency charged with promoting the tasty morsel. They came up with the idea of mounting them on a card, with the idea being that as you removed a packet, part of a seemingly naked girl was revealed. She wasn't, but we didn't realize that until we'd spent all of a week munching our way though the dam things. The second card has been hanging there half full now for three years. I tell you we won't get caught again. Now it has to be said that the question of food in pubs is the second of Jack's two phobias, The first being the condition of his beer, which rather then being pumped up from the cellar with the aid of Co2 gas, flows at room temperature from a barrel just behind the bar. And god help anyone who questions it's condition. As for Jacks phobia about food, about which he can become quiet paranoid, It's bad enough to hear him banging on about those once proud local pubs being reduced to becoming a theme pub like a certain hostelry down by the station. But old Jack can work himself up into an incandescent rage when talking about those pubs now converted into restaurants. Mind you, according to rumor, things got really bad the day they finally turned the old White Hart in the High Street into a Kentucky Fried Chicken fast food outlet. That was the time Jack spent the entire night in floods of tears as he slowly worked his way down a bottle of scotch. Oh and that's the other thing you need to know about our Jack. He can get through a bottle of scotch an evening. Indeed he has this amazing trick with his whisky consumption. There you are leaning up against the bar chatting to him, when mid conversation, and without taking his eyes from you, his arm complete with empty glass will reach out behind him, to hit the optic with the glass with unerring accuracy every time. A quick upward jab, hold for twenty seconds, down and the arm , now heavy with liquid travels back to the bar and his lips. A truly magic movement. But enough of Jack, what about our little gang, the regulars of this intellectual hub of the town's drinking society. Well first off we have Pete. Believed to be something in the city but nobodies quite sure what. Russell on the other hand spends his working hours patrolling the towns streets with his dust-cart. As for his best mate Big John, well his abiding interest is football and fighting a continual battle with jack over the installation of a satellite dish to get Sky sports channels. Needless to say, Jack is none to keen. As he say's one football supporter is bad enough. A pub full of them would be too much. As for the others. Charles is our trainee village idiot, Chris the Vicar really is a vicar, dropping in for a swift half after bell ringing or after first house on a Sunday. As for Sad Eric. Well give him a book and he's happy. Always to be found sitting at the corner table, book laid out, sipping at his beer. As for the others, there's Bert the real ale lover, much given to lifting his pint to the light to upset Jack with his muttered comment of "a bit cloudy tonight." Next up is Chalky White, the old man of the pub, along with Fred or 'Scoop' as we call him. He's a freelance journalist, and always down on his luck but tends to nip in after some long boring local Council committee meeting or other, Then we have young Elvis who has never quite lived down being lumbered with the name of his mums hero. Mention also has to be made of 'Sorry' Colin so called because his every other word seems to be 'sorry' and finally there's Brian our expert on local gossip and politics in the town. It has to be said at the outset that in the Traveler's Rest, Women tend to be thin on the ground, apart that is for Sue, the pubs blond bombshell of a barmaid behind the bar. Wives and various girl friends , Jack maintains have to be suffered. And as a confirmed bachelor himself, Jack tends towards the view that Women can be very dangerous creatures to have around. And he should know - considering the troubles he's had with various girl friends. Wives he maintained one evening, "are for escaping from and girlfriends are for planting at one of the corner table with a babysham to keep them quiet." It's an attitude that old Chalky White agrees with. He's managed in his sixty odd years to get through three of them. "There's only two things a man can do once he's married," he says, "start a hobby in the garden shed, or take up professional drinking." But ladies are however welcome to join the group. just so long as they don't mind the lack of food, music or the state of the pubs furniture and toilets. Mostly they turn up on a Saturday evening or Sunday Mornings or on various bank holidays. So that's our little gang, all of us regarding the Traveler's Rest as our home from home. Drop in any evening after opening time, and you'll find us there at the best local in town.
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