The Super Mario show
We are very lucky in this village to have a pub right at the heart of everything, along with a shop, church, village hall and school. We also have a well balanced population, socio-economically speaking at least.
This week our publicans, Mimi and Larry, have gone on a much-needed holiday to the Canary Islands, handing the keys over to our painter and decorator, Super Mario, and his wife.
Late this afternoon, not long after Mrs Regal-Bird put the finishing touches to the border at the front of her house (which usually prompts an outing for the hot-blooded males of the village to marvel at her bottom), Mr St John emerged from people's distant memories with MDF Man for an early evening pint. So early that our temporary mine hosts hadn't even officially opened up.
Sometime later Mr Grigg and I, Pelly and Mr Sheepwash walked across the Square to our local hostelry. Mr Grigg was looking forward to seeing Super Mario behind the bar. He rather unkindly added a rider to that statement along the lines of 'well, he'll need to be standing on a box for me to be able to see him'. Mr Grigg has a bit of a superiority complex but a man of his stature just can't help it.
Super Mario looked a bit worried as the bar got busier and busier with locals hell bent on watching him perform and making a fool of himself. But he didn't put a step wrong. Even when the pipes needed cleaning, and with Dudley exclaiming from the sidelines in his Toulouse Lautrec beret (stitches not healed yet), Super Mario calmly put on his rubber gloves (Pelly called him Super Marigold) and informed anyone wanting IPA would just have to wait. The test will come when he has to serve Celebrity Farmer, who trod a similar path a year or so ago and texted all his friends during his tenure to make sure the pub was packed with customers.
Mrs Super Mario served the customers with a smile, making a secret terrified face when someone else walked in or ordered a drink she wasn't sure about. Think Vimto and cider, or cider and Vimto even. But they looked perfect together behind the bar and even had a slight a domestic. This, as I know only too well having been a landlady in a previous life, is a prerequisite to running a good pub.
But I really hope they don't settle in too well. My front door needs repainting. I need Super Mario to don his overalls and get out the Farrow and Ball paint pot.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
This week our publicans, Mimi and Larry, have gone on a much-needed holiday to the Canary Islands, handing the keys over to our painter and decorator, Super Mario, and his wife.
Late this afternoon, not long after Mrs Regal-Bird put the finishing touches to the border at the front of her house (which usually prompts an outing for the hot-blooded males of the village to marvel at her bottom), Mr St John emerged from people's distant memories with MDF Man for an early evening pint. So early that our temporary mine hosts hadn't even officially opened up.
Sometime later Mr Grigg and I, Pelly and Mr Sheepwash walked across the Square to our local hostelry. Mr Grigg was looking forward to seeing Super Mario behind the bar. He rather unkindly added a rider to that statement along the lines of 'well, he'll need to be standing on a box for me to be able to see him'. Mr Grigg has a bit of a superiority complex but a man of his stature just can't help it.
Super Mario looked a bit worried as the bar got busier and busier with locals hell bent on watching him perform and making a fool of himself. But he didn't put a step wrong. Even when the pipes needed cleaning, and with Dudley exclaiming from the sidelines in his Toulouse Lautrec beret (stitches not healed yet), Super Mario calmly put on his rubber gloves (Pelly called him Super Marigold) and informed anyone wanting IPA would just have to wait. The test will come when he has to serve Celebrity Farmer, who trod a similar path a year or so ago and texted all his friends during his tenure to make sure the pub was packed with customers.Mrs Super Mario served the customers with a smile, making a secret terrified face when someone else walked in or ordered a drink she wasn't sure about. Think Vimto and cider, or cider and Vimto even. But they looked perfect together behind the bar and even had a slight a domestic. This, as I know only too well having been a landlady in a previous life, is a prerequisite to running a good pub.
But I really hope they don't settle in too well. My front door needs repainting. I need Super Mario to don his overalls and get out the Farrow and Ball paint pot.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
Sounds like you have a great pub there in Griggville. But did you get a lock-in and did you get a free drinki-poo?
ReplyDeleteTrouble with domestics and running a pub is having not quite finished the domestic, having to open up, smile for several hours and then continue the domestic after closing time.
ReplyDelete