Date: 12 Aug 11 - 04:11 AM
The idea came to us in the 'Old Gits' corner of the pub, quite by chance. The regular, monotonous calm routine of the summer days - reading the paper after lunch in the afternoon, a little gardening, and then a few beers at 5pm before dinner - was making us irritable and somehow unsatisfied, unfulfilled even. As the beers were drunk and the glasses refilled, one by one the voices fell silent. Gloom settled over the bar and Kath, the barmaid, abstractedly began to pick at a pimple on her chin. A bluebottle stopped his buzzing landed on a bowl of salted peanuts. Silence reigned.
Suddenly, Arthur slammed his glass on to the bar with all the force of his 81 years and sputtered, "I'm bored - absolutely bloody bored! I'm going to burn down the White Hart and then loot One-Stop! Who's with me?" For a moment there was a stunned silence. We knew that Arthur disliked the White Hart intensely and would never drink there, but - to burn it down! I ask you.
Then Fred, to our astonishment, suddenly threw his glass into the air. Beer droplets fell on to his bald head as the glass rose and fell before landing with a soft thud on to the bar carpet. "I'm with you, Arthur!" he cried - "I'm up for it!" Before anyone could say another word, old Ken slowly got off his bar stool and reached for his stick , saying calmly, "Well, I'm buggered if I'm staying here on my own, so let's get on with it."
Carpe diem. One by one, we finished our drinks and with cries of "Cheerio," "See you later," and "Be back soon," filed slowly out through the door and down the High Street in the direction of the little One-Stop supermarket. "Right," shouted Arthur when we got there, "let's go in and take what we want - without paying - and then set fire to the Hart!" To be honest it was a bit of a struggle getting through the door because one of them was bolted top and bottom and we had to squeeze through the other one at a time. When we finally got inside, wheezing and puffing a little, we had a look round to see what we could 'nick'. Ken limped down the small aisle on the left, past the soap powders and pet food, Arthur took the right aisle going down towards the papers and biscuits, and Fred and I crept furtively towards the vegetables.
Well, do you know, there didn't really seem to be much worth having. Arthur picked up a couple of packets of chocolate digestives, looked at them critically and then put them back, muttering "heartburn..." to himself. Ken surveyed a couple of shelves of tea packets and powdered coffee, shaking his head slowly. Fred and I were not impressed by the veg. After a few minutes, the young chap behind the till came over to us and asked politely, "Can I help anyone?" I turned a little red and shook my head mutely. The others said nothing but, one by one made their way to the door - empty-handed.
Just down the street from the shop was the White Hart. "Anyone got any matches?" asked Arthur? We all shook our heads. None of us smoked. I used to smoke a pipe some years ago, but stopped when the smoking ban came into force. We stood there, in the evening sunlight, not knowing quite what to do. Fred broke the silence. "Drink, anyone?" he said. Our faces brightened, and we slowly walked back up the street to our local.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the great Old Gits riot of 2011 was narrowly averted.
