The big bang! (From Bradford Telegraph and Argus)

The big bang!

8:50am Monday 29th September 2008 in Leisure By Telegraph & Argus

It had been a long time since so many of them had been assembled together in the snug of the Boilermaker’s Arms. At the heart of this grand reunion to celebrate Thelma and The Scribbler’s engagement was the pub’s ebullient former owner Exeter Montgomery Cashew (or EMC to his many friends), mopping his brow with his pink handkerchief as he leaned with his back against the bar and related the many adventures he’d had since swapping Bradford for Hollywood and a new career as a movie director.

“As dear Bruce was saying to me only the other day….” he declared, adding “Willis, of course” for the benefit of those among his audience who might have thought he meant Forsyth.

Just about every one of the pub’s regular company had turned up for the celebration and were pleased that EMC had flown back to Bradford to join them. There was Boris the Landlord, delighted to be reunited, however temporarily, with his former boss, and Daphne the Venerable Barmaid who had always thought of EMC as the big sister she’d never had.

The Thropes were there too. Barrington the resting actor loved EMC’s theatricality while his stage-clairvoyant mother Doris “Happy Medium” Thrope saw the dramatic twists and turns of his life as an exciting challenge to her fortune-telling abilities.

Wilf the Woolman surveyed the scene from behind the bar and reflected on his good fortune at having been able to buy the pub when EMC departed for the States. He noted the smiling faces of those who were listening so attentively to an anecdote about “dear Julia……Roberts, of course”.

Even Sebastian Serple the social worker had turned up, his former manhood (and his Guardian-reading habit) restored and the upset caused by his ill-advised temporary sex-change to become Sonia put behind him. He was standing alongside Brenda and Glenda, Bradford’s least-lovely twins in their fuchsia parkas and tangerine elastic-waisted trousers, who were taking it in turns to wink at Postman Parvez while avoiding the eye of Gaylord the Psycho, who was out on parole and headbutting the jukebox.

And, of course, there were the happy couple: The Scribbler with his arm round Thelma and with Arnold the pigeon perched on his shoulder. In addition, there were two seldom-seen visitors from among their T&A colleagues: Hector Mildew, the curmudgeonly former columnist who had just happened to call in for a pint of Old Enraptured Ragamuffin (or “Old Muff”), and the Assistant Editor With Special Responsibility For Snooping On Reporters, who was snooping on Thelma and the Scribbler.

Into this company strolled Graham the Gasman, fresh off the early shift and with a desperate thirst on him.

“Hello Graham, dear heart!” gushed EMC. “Have that Old Muff on me.”

Graham dodged EMC’s big hug and kiss on the cheek and instead gave him a manly handshake.

“I’m glad you called in, Graham,” said Boris. “There was a strong smell of something in the cellar this morning. It might be the drains, but I reckon there’s a possibility it’s gas. Could you please have a look?”

Graham gulped down half of his pint and headed for the cellar door with a secretive smile. As it closed behind him, he picked his way down the steps, reaching into his pocket as he did so.

He opened the packet of cigarettes and inserted one between his lips. He would lose face if his Boilermaker’s friends found out that he’d started smoking again after all these months. This clandestine cigarette would be his last. He was determined on that. And when he’d smoked it he’d check on the gassy smell in the cellar.

Graham took his lighter out of his top pocket and spun the little wheel with his thumb…..

The End