The Barman’s Diaries #1

Illustrations by Grace McKenna

It's 20:03 and ‘Red Wine’ by UB40 is playing. It’s raining backwards outside; the only  drink I’ve served in the past 30 minutes was for myself. I currently have a whopping  three customers, the two in the corner are playing battleships and sipping negronis, the other is making steady progress through our stock of Pinot Grigio. I was thinking about David Attenborough earlier while cleaning the fridges and, hold on, my favourite customer has just arrived. 

So, Phil is well but I’m out of Flensbuerger (his favourite lager). But anyway, yes, David Attenborough and the fridges, well not literally. I was thinking that it would be a good lifestyle decision to adopt the motto ‘What Would David Do?’, in uncertain situations. For example, if you’re perusing the aisles in Lidl (or Sainsburys) and you see an olive oil spill on the floor and of course you’re tempted to walk on, ask yourself ‘What Would  David Do?’ Well, I can only imagine that at the very least he’d alert a member of staff, if not kneel down himself, fashion some marvellous handkerchief from his breast pocket, that somehow soaks up the entire mess as though it were charmed by Hermione Granger. 

Update: it’s 20:32 and we’re now up to 10 customers. I’ll have to stop writing at this rate. If you’re wondering, I am indeed standing behind the bar, tapping away on my laptop. We’re running dangerously low on Pinot. Hypothetical situation number two: you’re out with two of your mates on a Saturday night.  

Aside: Pinot lady has just been up again; her face is redder than when I saw her last. 

Your friends are both whisked off by, let’s say, Andrew Garfield and Paul Mescal or Ana de Armas and Sydney Sweeney depending on their inclinations (because why not, such are the joys of fiction). So, you’re on your lonesome in the middle of a crowded bar and not quite drunk enough to just barrel your way into conversation. Then, you close your eyes and think What Would David Do? and you turn around and he’s actually standing there in the middle of the dancefloor looking all regal, like a wise orangutan. But he gives you this remarkable pep talk that has something to do with swans mating for life, a penguin knowing the cry of its chick from the chorus of millions, and birds tracing the earth’s magnetic field in their cross-continental peregrinations. Good old David. Then he introduces you to the love of your life, and disappears. You live happily ever after, and name your first child Atty. Don’t do that, it’s a terrible name.

Okay it’s actually 23:15 now. Phil’s mate Clem has arrived , as well as a couple of  American girls who were fond of my cosmopolitans (that’s not an innuendo (in fact I’m not even sure how it could be)). Clem is a Frenchman that runs El Jefes on Nicholson Street. He’s been entertaining me on the topics of burritos, 3D art and Roma F.C. The thrills of bartending. I kind of need to clean up even though I couldn’t be bothered, but you know the drill: What Would David Do?