Monday 21st August 2000

2347 Hrs

Curly is in a terrible mood with everyone. He doesn’t think we are taking his attack seriously enough. He got into this sulk because he told me and Clint this morning that he was going to go and report the incident to the Police. We tried to explain that he would just make himself look like a knob and he accused us of being unsupportive. How can stopping your friend from looking like a knob be unsupportive? Miller didn’t help matters when he came rolling into the bar this morning, still in last nights clothes, and boasted that he too had been raped by Bertha. “Did she do that thumb thing to you too? Nasty eh” he asked Curly. This was too much for our pube headed friend and he stormed off. Miller said he was going to form a support club for the pair of’em.

The pub had a couple of people in today. The weather was scorching hot so Babbacombe had a few tourists enjoying the beautiful sea view and some of those came in here to have something to eat for lunch. In all we did about seven meals, mainly sandwiches and salads but the way Kung Fu Phil was running around the kitchen in a rampant panic, you’d have thought we had the entire British army in for dinner. Dick head. God I hate him!

However, someone I hate even more came in tonight. Harry Barker. Old laughing boy. The ugly little git came slimming up to the bar, all smiles and asked if he could speak with the boss. I tried to assure him that he was speaking to him but his happy grin was swiftly replaced with something all the more threatening and he whispered with a hiss “Go get ye facking Daddy, BOY!” For all I knew he was ready to stab me, I swear his face suddenly looked that evil, so I thought sod it, let Dad deal with his new pal. It turned out that Harry was coming in to TELL Dad that he was having a party in the pub on Sunday night for his daughters 40th. He wants a buffet laid out for the occasion, but he never once allured to whether or not he would be paying for it and Dad didn’t ask either! After Harry had fucked off I asked Dad about that and he basically snapped at me and said we should be grateful for the customers and added that I had done fuck all to get people in so far! I was utterly shocked!

My father and brothers have squashed every brilliant idea I have put forward so far. The pub is doing crap because of them! I should have said that to Dad, instead I just told him that I had something planned for Friday that will get the customers piling in!

So what is this new genius plan? Well earlier Clint was banging on about adverts he was putting in the newspaper and on Torquay FM, for the charity karaoke competition we are unfortunately organizing. I pointed out that nobody ever reads ads in the local paper, and nobody even listens to the local radio station, so it’s all a waste of time and money. I explained to him that you’ve gotta go out and catch new customers. It’s like fishing and I’m gonna reel loads in on Friday night because I’ve got a new Masterplan. I’m going undercover to steal customers from the rival pub down the road. The Queens Legs is always packed and though it doesn’t have the sort of clientele I would prefer, it does have a lively karaoke crowd and I am sure I can get them to come to our pub while Clint’s competition is running.

The Queens Legs look quite nice from outside, but if you go in, it's a right shit hole. It’s full of the sort of people who know their place in life and their place is at the bottom of the social ladder, the underclass. They’ve got no aspirations other than getting through the day anyway they can, until The Queens Legs open and they can all go in for lots of drinks. Not the sort of place you would expect someone respectable like me to venture into but I’m willing to take one for the good of the business. Once the competition is over, I’ll bar the lot of’em, but in the mean time they’ll keep Dad happy and keep him off of my back while I work on my much bigger plans.

For my undercover operation in The Queens Legs, I won’t be able to wear my usual smart attire, because if I do I’ll attract too much attention from the pubs landlord and his thug doormen. I need to blend in with the common people, dress down to their level. Blue jeans, stained t-shirt, crap hair and NO glasses (they’ll give my sophistication away immediately). So I guess I will be going out disguised as Miller. Once I’m in, I’m going to approach people and point out all of the superior facilities The Royal Ship has to offer, compared to the dive they are wasting their time in. I’m sure they’ll be flocking out en masse when they realize what they are missing out on. I mean, it’s not often people of their level get invited to somewhere as classy as my establishment.

2358 Hrs

I was just popping down stairs to get a bedtime glass of coke when I heard a voice shouting somewhere in the darkened bar. I armed myself with a broom and slowly crept towards the noise. The aggravated voice was coming from the office. As I snuck closer, I realised it was Dad on the phone. I kept quiet and listened to the heated conversation he was having.

“I’ve not been avoiding you” … “You said you didn’t need it back for at least six months!” … “There’s no need for that sort of talk” … “Please mate, I just need a little more time than that” … “No! You don’t need to come down here, okay I’ll sort it…I’ll…”

It sounded like the person who was shouting at him on the other side of the phone hung up. Dad just collapsed into my swivel chair and buried his head mournfully into his hands. I didn’t bother going in to ask who he had been talking to; he would never have told me. Dad has always been secretive, especially when he is up to no good, or is in trouble. God I hope this is nothing that will affect the pub!

Koopa’s just emailed me, asking me to go on the Brummy Chat webpage, so I’ll see what he wants and hopefully he’ll help take my mind off of my knob head father.

http://www.brummychat.co.uk

Online:
The Bar Steward (Jacob H. Cox)
Brum Gunz (Koopa O’Shea)

Brum Gunz:
Alwright, Cox Boy, how’s it going in da deep south then? I hears off Milla that Hank came out to play last night.

The Bar Steward:
Here we go. No Hank did not make an appearance because Hank does not exist!

Brum Gunz:
No need to get stressed knobba. Milla told me some well funny stuff that you did! It sounds like you had a wicked night!

The Bar Steward:
Wicked?

Brum Gunz:
You had a laugh, yeah? Milla said you and him were ripping town apart.

The Bar Steward:
I can assure you that my brother and I do not share the same idea of fun! His idea of fun is getting wasted and punching me in the gob.

Brum Gunz:
That soundz like my idea of a good night!

The Bar Steward:
I LOST A BLOODY TOOTH! He’s lucky I didn’t kick his fat hairy ass all over the nightclub. I would have done it but I had my reputation to think about.

Brum Gunz:
Milla said you was sticking ya cock in peoples drinks!

The Bar Steward:
Miller is a lying fecker!

Brum Gunz:
Ha. Calm down, at least you’ll get a quid off of the tooth fairy.

The Bar Steward:
Yeah, and maybe Santa Claus will bring me a new twin for Christmas.

Brum Gunz:
Nah, he won’t be doing that mate.

The Bar Steward:
Why not?

Brum Gunz:
Cos he’s dead.

The Bar Steward:
Whose dead?

Brum Gunz:
Santa Claus. Father Christmas. The big HO HO HO fella.

The Bar Steward:
He doesn’t exist Koopa.

Brum Gunz:
Lol, I know that dildo! He doesn’t exist anymore cos he’s dead. He died during WW2.

The Bar Steward:
What?

Brum Gunz:
He got shot down over Nazi Germany in 1944. Unidentified flying object. Evil bastards those Nazi’s were! That’s why we won the war?

The Bar Steward:
Aye?

Brum Gunz:
Yeah. Da Allieds dropped leaflets all over Germany saying “Hitler killed Santa, revolt now”, and they did. Hitler shitted himself, knew the game was up and shot himself. War over. We won.

The Bar Steward:
Well that’s news to me.

Brum Gunz:
I suppose it’s a good thing really though.

The Bar Steward:
What? That Santa and Rudolf got shelled outta the sky.

Brum Gunz:
Yeah. Some old fat, sweaty bloke breaking into your kid’s bedroom in the middle of the night, giving’em a special present. That doesn’t sound right does it?

The Bar Steward:
I guess not.

Brum Gunz:
And he’d be dangerous for other reasons!

The Bar Steward:
What reasons are those then?

Brum Gunz:
Well he’s got the ability to get into anywhere he wants. There isn’t a government or criminal on the planet that wouldn’t want some of that technology! Either they’d try and recruit him or put a cap in his ass themselves. Imagine if Bin Laden took some of his elves hostages. Santa would be forced to into knocking off the US President quicker than the tubby bastard eats his mince pies. He’d have people trying to get him left, right and centre, man! He’d probably be like some badass 80’s action hero, fighting hard to stay alive!

The Bar Steward:
So I suppose I won’t be getting a new twin for Christmas then.

Brum Gunz:
Fraid not Cox.
So, did Milla or Clint manage to dip their dick last night or Curly even?

The Bar Steward:
What about me?

Brum Gunz:
What about ya?

The Bar Steward:
Why didn’t you ask if I pulled anyone?

Brum Gunz:
Alwright. Did ya pull any Cox last night?

The Bar Steward:
I’m not gay Koopa! In fact I pulled the fittest bird in the whole club. The whole town in fact.

Brum Gunz:
Yeah yeah, course you did.

The Bar Steward:
I DID! I pulled the most beautiful girl I’ve ever saw and she came back to ours with me!

Brum Gunz:
Did anyone else see her?

The Bar Steward:
No. But only because Miller fucked off with Bertha the rapist whale and Clint was running after Curly!

Brum Gunz:
So no one can back up ya story then.

The Bar Steward:
STORY! I’m not lying! It’s true. She was gorgeous and she was all over me!

Brum Gunz:
LOL. Okay Cox, I believe ya, I really do. You’re a big stud. A walking, rock hard Cox!

The Bar Steward:
That’s right. I am.

Anyway, forget about us. How’s it going with you lot back home? Any sign of the millions you said you were all gonna be making from the new patch?

Brum Gunz:
Nah, not yet. Uncle Connor said he is investing all of the extra cash we are making.

The Bar Steward:
Investing it into what?

Brum Gunz:
He said he is gonna start shipping in drugs himself, directly from Columbia. He’s got a big shipment all lined up. Do you know that Pablo Escobar use to make 20 billion a year! He made so much money, he use to lose about 5 billion a year cos the rats ate it in his lockup. We’re gunna be RICH!

The Bar Steward:
Wow, a family to be proud of alright. Look, don’t tell me anymore. The less we know the better; plausible deniability when the police come knocking.

Brum Gunz:
The money we’ll be making, the police will be working for us.

The Bar Steward:
Sure they will. Look Koopa, interesting chat but I’ve gotta go. I’ve got some emails to write.

Brum Gunz:
Who to?

The Bar Steward:
I’m writing to celebrities and inviting them to our pub for free. They can stop for nothing, eat for nothing and drink for nothing!

Brum Gunz:
Why do you wanna be doing that for?

The Bar Steward:
Publicity! Look at all of those idiots who go around all the Beatles old haunts in Liverpool. People love celebrity stuff. Once fans know their heroes have been into our establishment, we’ll have’em flocking here!

Brum Gunz:
Soundz like another great Cox idea.

The Bar Steward:
It is, and this time I’m not running it by Dad, Miller or Clint cos they know feck all!

Brum Gunz:
HA. Good luck with it then.

The Bar Steward:
Cheers. Night.

Brum Gunz:
Laterz.

The Bar Steward has left Brummy Chat



Tuesday 22nd August 2000

1522 Hrs

It was raining today so the pub was dead. Thankfully that meant I didn’t have to put up with Kung Fu Phil crashing around the kitchen in a temper, as Dad told him not to bother coming in today.

I spent all afternoon wishing someone would actually come into the pub and have a drink, but then I wished I hadn’t when the most boring bugger in the whole world came plodding in and super-glued himself to a barstool for over three hours! Miller was in bed, Clint was in town getting some Karaoke CD’s and Curly was down the cash n carry with Dad, so I was bleedin stuck with this train obsessed dwarf, who was as welcomed as diarrhea in the local swimming baths. I felt like a whore. Now I know how a prozzie must feel. There I was, bored shitless, but I still had to smile and pretend I was happy with this dickheads company! I hope he never comes back.

Anyway, forget that. After the twatty imp fucked off I decided to kill some time by cleaning the bar. Not a job I should be doing but I was so bored! I began removing some old photos that had been taken before we took over the pub, when I saw my Winky on one of them. I instantly tore it off of the wall and examined it intensely. Her beautiful smile, heavenly blue eyes, made me go all goose bumpily and light at once. It must have been a taken recently because she had the exact same top on as she did on Sunday night. The photo is just of her alone, waving and smiling at whoever is taking the picture. More importantly the photo is of her inside this pub! Is she a local? Does she come in here often? Maybe I will see her again! This is the happiest I have felt since I’ve moved down here.

1825 Hrs

Clint just brought in the local newspaper, The Torquay Express, to show me. On the front page is a grainy black and white CCTV image of a man in a nightclub. Basically the article said that the Police are looking for a flasher who exposed himself in Café Rouge on Sunday night. He is approx 5’7, slim with short brown hair and has a Brummy accent. It then said if you saw him, or have any information about this man, please ring this number: 01803 322 8333.

The reason Clint was showing me the paper was because he claims that it is me in the photograph. Bollocks. They’re going too far with this Hank joke now! The man in the picture could be anyone, and loads of the people in Torquay are from Birmingham, Liverpool, Newcastle and Scotland, so the accent thing proves nothing!

However, I think I might grow a beard, so that I fit in better at the Queens Legs on Friday. I’ll get that scruffy look going, so that I’m totally unrecognizable.