Brew ha ha by Bill Kirton

The present, and too long-lasting, circumstances invite all sorts of speculation and theorising about the nature and definitions of ‘normality’ (as well as, needless to say, the principles, morality, competence and even basic common sense of our ‘leaders’). This post seeks only to be a minor, temporary effort to divert attention from the negatives, the frustrations, the pressures of it all by trying to provoke a smile via an old-fashioned format, the rhyming monologue, made popular in the Stone Age by such greats as Stanley Holloway, and still getting laughs at the Edinburgh Festival not so many years ago. This one, best read with a generic ‘north of England’ accent, goes…

I went down the pub on Friday.
It’s a nice pub, quiet, tidy.
Lovely barmaid. Well, she’s sweaty.
’Fact, we call her Sweaty Betty.
We were sat there, then this bangin’
Starts; an’ then the doorbell’s clangin’
Then some silly bugger’s shoutin’.
Betty says: “He needs a cloutin’,
Kickin’ up that bloody racket.
Go an’ punch him up the bracket.”
Like I said, the pub was quiet.
None of us lads wants a riot.
But the bloody door was breakin’.
We just sat there, small an’ shakin’.
“Help us, Lord”, one voice was sayin’;
Charlie Jackson’s kneelin’, prayin’.
“Stop him then, before he wrecks it,”
Shouts our Betty. At the exit
We were clustered, drinkin’ quickly,
Feelin’ scared an’ lookin’ sickly.
Then he stops. It goes all quiet.
“Which of you lot wants to try it?”
Comes this shoutin’ through the doorway
“Come on, Jim, I’m goin’ your way”,
Says our Leonard as he’s slinkin’
Out the back door, quickly drinkin’.
“Best go now, ’cos he won’t let you”.
Then “I’m comin in to get you.”
And he does. This bloke, all manly,
Says “Right. My name’s Tiny Stanley”.
Says “I’ve come to ’ave a barney”.
Joey whispers “Where’s your army?”
Stanley ’eard him, took his coat off,
Picked up Joe and pulled his throat off.
We all laughed an’ started hummin’,
Said we thought Joe had it comin’.
Stanley saw the cat an’ choked it,
Picked up Jim’s white stick an’ broke it,
Told poor Charlie he was smelly
An’ plugged his deaf-aid in the telly,
Stamped on Arthur, then said: “Such is
Life” an’ bit through both his crutches.
“Come on then, let’s get acquainted”,
Hollers Stanley. Arthur fainted.
Stanley said “What you require’s
Warmin”. Puts him in the fire.
There’s not even been a tussle
An’ he’s stood there, brawn an’ muscle.
This, you see, was provocation.
I was white with indignation.
But I said nowt. Well, I’ve never
Tried to make meself look clever.
I decide I won’t offend him
So I watch him as he’s bendin’
Arms an’ breakin’ people’s glasses,
Bitin’ ears off as he passes.
Then he comes up to the counter,
Sees our Betty, tries to mount ’er.
That was it. He’d gone too far then.
Betty pushed him on the bar then,
Pickin’ up a crate of Guinness,
Lifted it an’ dropped it in ’is
Stomach, broke his spine an’ shoulder
Then his skull. And, getting bolder,
Dug her nails into his liver.
Then, oh dear, ’e’ll not forgive her,
Says all smilin’: “Ere y’are Sidney.’
Throws our Sid poor Stanley’s kidney.
Soon the bar was lookin’ shoddy.
Little bits of Stanley’s body
Stickin’ to it. Fight was ended.
I said: “Least said, soonest mended.
Help us scrape the bits together.
Then we’ll burn ’em. Funny weather
We bin ’avin.” “Aye” said Sidney,
Puttin’ down his bit of kidney.
So we scraped up all the scattered
Bits an’ bobs, and laughed an’ chatted;
Cleaned the bar up, made it tidy,
Then we ’ad a drink. This Friday
There’s a darts match an’ the pub’ll
Fill with people. There’ll be trouble.
I’m not goin’.


Jan Needle said…
By God Bill, takes you back, eh? Friday night at the Flowerpot, Kingston Road. I never did like darts!
Umberto Tosi said…
I raise a pint to your rhyming monologue for doing its job of diverting my attention, at least for the moment, from the boils covering the rump of today's realities and fearful leader's ever-present, orange arse-face. Would that Sweaty Betty could have a go at him for five minutes, please. All this and the bonus (spoiler alert!) of a felicitous ending, right down to tidying up of collateral gore! Justice prevails and the bully is dispersed, as it were, in all directions, as fitting but rarely the case. God save Sweaty Beatty!
Eden Baylee said…

And you keep telling me you don't write poetry! LIAR!

Great rhyming monologue, fun and funny, light , and a good diversion from the ills of the present.


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