Two days before my departure for Devon and still no sign of an improvement in the weather! In fact it looks as if it's going to get worse here before it gets better - so the nervousness is more to do with my Cafe Latte coloured Nissan Micra negotiating the wilds of the M4 and M5 in the early hours of Monday morning. I have charged my ipod, dug out my sleeping bag from the attic, filled the car with petrol and checked the oil in preparation for the long journey south. Hardly Shackleton's journey across the south Atlantic in an open boat I know, but one can never be too prepared.
It was with my impending journey in mind that on Friday afternoon I decided to venture down to my local pub - the Plough and Harrow in Monknash. An outstanding pub which boasts real ale, real fires and real people. It's an absolute gem, nestling between the cliffs of the Bristol Channel and the villages of the Vale of Glamorgan. There are no juke boxes, no fruit machines, no Neon signs - just good beer, good food and good company!
Friday afternoons are always fun - around 5pm, locals and trippers alike mingle to sample the unique atmosphere of this rural public house. Everyone is greeted by "mien host" - a man who claims his hair colour is "Strawberry blonde" or "South African Sunset" - I'm still undecided so I refer to him as Ginger! Like every local pub, there are characters that people just would not believe existed unless they met them and it was one such character that I had made the effort to go and meet. The attraction of beer at £2 a pint had no influence on my decision whatsoever and what I really needed to do was to speak to "Dai the Bag".
Now there are a lot of people that use the Plough and Harrow called Dai. There's "Dubai Dai", the owner of the pub - a man 7 foot tall and 7 foot wide with a heart of gold and a fist the size of a rugby ball! There's "Dai the shooter", a Policeman who specializes in firearms - not to be messed with! There's "Dai Jones" - claims he is the cousin of one time Leeds United Striker, Mick Jones and there's "Dai the Bag"! Dai the bag buys and sells things - anything - indoor gardening tools, underwear by Kevin Kline, torches with 6 million candle power and novelty Santas that drop their trousers and go "Ho, Ho ,Ho - have I got a surprise for you little boy". What I needed was a spade to go in the boot of the Micra in case I got stuck in the snow on the M5. I'm sure Dai will have one in his bag!
An hour passed and Dai hadn't appeared - I had to endure Wilmot and Kev reminiscing about the 1991 Leyland Daf Final when Birmingham City beat some other unknown football team with Wattsie (a Wolves Fan) and Jonesy (A Villa Fan) interrupting them by re-enacting great goals from the 70's, using beer mats and peanuts! How much could a man take - my nerves were already on edge, worrying about Monday's journey and whether my fellow cooks were better prepared than me.
At precisely 1755, the door opened and Dai the Bag entered the lounge bar. His green Barbour jacket open from the waist and his peaked cap cocked at a jaunty angle but no bag on his shoulder. "Sh**t", I thought - "No bag = no tat". Dai strode to the bar, people stopped talking and the crowd in froont of the bar parted to allow him to pass, like the scene from a Western film, conscious that they were in the presence of someone special. "A pint of HPA", Dai ordered. Gripping the foaming Ale, Dai made his way to the seat by the fire, fortunately next to me! "Dai?", "Dai?" - we exchanged pleasantries. "Where's your bag today Dai?" I enquired. "Left it in the car", came his reply. "I don't suppose you've got any inflatable shovels have you - I've got to travel down to Devon on Monday morning and I'm worried about the weather and if the car gets stuck?"
"You're going on that cookery course aren't you?" - Dai was incredibly well informed of local events - "You don't need a shovel. What you need is a nice set of Subbuteo knives - I'll just go and get my bag!"
It was at this point that my bus was due to depart. I sneaked out through the kitchen, checking what knives the chef was using, and headed for home. Alas no shovel.... but still 2 days to go.
It was with my impending journey in mind that on Friday afternoon I decided to venture down to my local pub - the Plough and Harrow in Monknash. An outstanding pub which boasts real ale, real fires and real people. It's an absolute gem, nestling between the cliffs of the Bristol Channel and the villages of the Vale of Glamorgan. There are no juke boxes, no fruit machines, no Neon signs - just good beer, good food and good company!
Friday afternoons are always fun - around 5pm, locals and trippers alike mingle to sample the unique atmosphere of this rural public house. Everyone is greeted by "mien host" - a man who claims his hair colour is "Strawberry blonde" or "South African Sunset" - I'm still undecided so I refer to him as Ginger! Like every local pub, there are characters that people just would not believe existed unless they met them and it was one such character that I had made the effort to go and meet. The attraction of beer at £2 a pint had no influence on my decision whatsoever and what I really needed to do was to speak to "Dai the Bag".
Now there are a lot of people that use the Plough and Harrow called Dai. There's "Dubai Dai", the owner of the pub - a man 7 foot tall and 7 foot wide with a heart of gold and a fist the size of a rugby ball! There's "Dai the shooter", a Policeman who specializes in firearms - not to be messed with! There's "Dai Jones" - claims he is the cousin of one time Leeds United Striker, Mick Jones and there's "Dai the Bag"! Dai the bag buys and sells things - anything - indoor gardening tools, underwear by Kevin Kline, torches with 6 million candle power and novelty Santas that drop their trousers and go "Ho, Ho ,Ho - have I got a surprise for you little boy". What I needed was a spade to go in the boot of the Micra in case I got stuck in the snow on the M5. I'm sure Dai will have one in his bag!
An hour passed and Dai hadn't appeared - I had to endure Wilmot and Kev reminiscing about the 1991 Leyland Daf Final when Birmingham City beat some other unknown football team with Wattsie (a Wolves Fan) and Jonesy (A Villa Fan) interrupting them by re-enacting great goals from the 70's, using beer mats and peanuts! How much could a man take - my nerves were already on edge, worrying about Monday's journey and whether my fellow cooks were better prepared than me.
At precisely 1755, the door opened and Dai the Bag entered the lounge bar. His green Barbour jacket open from the waist and his peaked cap cocked at a jaunty angle but no bag on his shoulder. "Sh**t", I thought - "No bag = no tat". Dai strode to the bar, people stopped talking and the crowd in froont of the bar parted to allow him to pass, like the scene from a Western film, conscious that they were in the presence of someone special. "A pint of HPA", Dai ordered. Gripping the foaming Ale, Dai made his way to the seat by the fire, fortunately next to me! "Dai?", "Dai?" - we exchanged pleasantries. "Where's your bag today Dai?" I enquired. "Left it in the car", came his reply. "I don't suppose you've got any inflatable shovels have you - I've got to travel down to Devon on Monday morning and I'm worried about the weather and if the car gets stuck?"
"You're going on that cookery course aren't you?" - Dai was incredibly well informed of local events - "You don't need a shovel. What you need is a nice set of Subbuteo knives - I'll just go and get my bag!"
It was at this point that my bus was due to depart. I sneaked out through the kitchen, checking what knives the chef was using, and headed for home. Alas no shovel.... but still 2 days to go.
Dai for Gods sake man.
ReplyDeleteWhats the first rule of the five o' clock club - You do not talk about the five o' clock club.
Whats the second rule of the five o' clock club - You do NOT talk about the five o'clock club.
The third rule - If someone says stop, goes limp, taps out - the round is over
You've jeopardised Wattsy and Garys cheap beer - I think you may have more to worry about than snow.
Subbuteo knives? They must be tiny. How on earth do you cut anything with them?
ReplyDelete