I’m At The Pub
I’m At The Pub
I’m at the pub. It’s winter but it’s warm here outside at the pub. There’s music being piped out of some mounted speakers above a table nearby. Is it Michael Franti that’s playing? God I haven’t heard Michael Franti in ages, and I say this to my friends, who I am at the pub with. One of my friends at the pub remembers a time when you couldn’t go to a festival without Michael Franti barging his way on stage. This is so true. I remember being at Bluesfest in 2006 when Franti did a “surprise” song during a Blind Boys of Alabama set. They were clearly quite pissed off about it, I remark, and my friends, with whom I am at the pub, laugh.
There’s a little play area at this pub, not far from where our table is, and my son is busying himself in there with his toy dump truck. He’s filling it with gum nuts that are falling from a huge tree in the courtyard, and the sun is shining through it’s leaves, which cast a shadow over our table. There’s a kid about his age in the play area with him, who is eying off his gum nut truck with an interest that, were I not in such a nice mood here at the pub with my friends, which I am, I would find disconcerting. They’ll sort it out, the two of them, if it comes to that.
There was an article that went around a little while ago about which animals men and women think they could beat in unarmed combat, and my friends are discussing this here at the pub. One of them, who works in IT, believes he could “neutralise” a grizzly bear by punching it in the nose. He’s thinking of sharks, another of my friends counters. No he’s not, says the friend who works in IT and thinks he could neutralise a bear by punching it in the nose, he knows about the shark thing, but it’s also true for grizzly bears. He adds that he could also neutralise a shark no problem, because they are “sea-cucked”.
There was another story in the paper this morning about Earth II. It’s disquieting to read about what’s going on there with their pandemic and whatnot, and some fears that the virus is mutating in such a way that it may be able to permeate the dimensional barrier which separates us. Most of the top people, the physicists and epidemiologists who are working in tandem on this, reckon that’s not possible, though it’s a thought that would be troubling were I not here, in the sun with my friends and my son at the pub, where someone’s just bought wedges for the whole table.
The sun is beginning to dip in the sky and someone just dropped a pint glass. No one shouted “taxi” because it’s not the kind of pub where people shout “taxi” if you drop a pint glass. One of my friends has spotted someone she hasn’t seen in years, and is chatting with them over at their table. No one remarks how nice it is to just bump into folks, rather than having to deliberately seek them out, because why would you even raise that? It’s unremarkable. You meet old friends by chance all the time at the pub, which we can go to whenever we want, schedules permitting.
Even though the sun is out and the wedges are crispy and the people at the pub who make the decisions about sauces haven’t skimped on the sour cream and sweet chilli sauce — which sit in their own individual ramekins in case you just want one sauce but not the other — I return to thoughts of Earth II and how none of the residents of that dimension’s Sydney are enjoying the sun and the wedges and the pub, how they must be so afraid and in that fear becoming monstrous, how lucky I am to be here, so wonderfully here, on a Saturday afternoon with my friends at the pub, which I am.