Sunday Night, Monday Morning

Time was in my twenties I got into the habit of squeezing the last drop out of the weekend by spending Sunday nights in the boozer. A proper old-fashioned London pub mind you: first the Brownswood Park Tavern, one of those crossroad corner-straddling pubs and then latterly The Clarendon with a little Magpie & Stump and Mulligan’s thrown for the sake of a change being as good as rest.

If this approach (albeit in the days when they called time at 10.30 pm) meant a slow start the following morning it barely mattered, my employment being a succession of mundane jobs you’d really rather not think about until you absolutely had to.

These days, and I find it no measure of my progress in civility or refinement to admit this, it has to be early to bed with a camomile tea (which is filthy stuff) in order to face the Marathon that is the Makemeadiva Monday. The day of the week that I wish out of the way because it so long, so demanding and, frankly, so Mondayish. If I am your colleague, tutor, mother or friend on a Monday don’t take it personally, it’s not you, it just the extended hours at the face that I resent. I don’t like the preparation for the endurance test that tucks me in bed by ten p.m. drinking a cup of what smells like someone’s wee. I’m sorry, but I still wish I was parked on a bar stool somewhere with the hard stuff and pool cue: the winner stays on.

Busier than I remember it

Posted on April 26, 2010, in Horse racing, Nostalgia and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. hear here:
    mourning a misspent youth:
    the days before responsibiliteeeee *said in a Johnny Lydon snarl*

  2. Stephen Foster

    I always notice that pub as I’m taking my secret short cut to avoid the Finsbury Park one way system en route to the M11.

  3. Well that’s my old stamping ground, before I gentrified myself all the way (probably along the short cut) to Hackney Central and then the Wick.

    I hope that pub has defied any gentri or trendi fication of any kind. That would be double wrong.

  4. Apparently it’s as rough as a badger’s ass and on the brink of closure. Even I remember going in there.

  5. And this I know, by the way, because I have a friend who lives in one of the flats in the old water tower on the other side of the road.

  6. You have friends in high places then 😉

    Some of those drinkers will have died by now, that’s died E, not dead!

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