First Post (Cosham)

Ghost of Xmas Present (Xmas Carol)

It’s Christmas Eve and Mr Spoon is trying to sleep in his cutlery drawer. Noises - perceived and real – have woken him many times during a troubled night.

What was that? A creak on the staircase?

With one eye closed, Spoon peers nervously over the top of a large napkin drawn up to his saucepan handle.

Oh yes Spoon is fearful. And with good reason. A ghostly apparition has already visited the part-plastic-part-metal-part-glass-part wooden pub chain owner this very night.Taken on a journey to Christmas past, he witnessed street corner boozers ringing out to the sound of jolly men, badly sung carols and secretaries artfully performing fellatio on grateful bosses in darkened alleyways. And ne’er a Wetherspoons in sight.

Yes…yes...that was definitely another noise on the stairs.

Followed by a clang. Then a ghostly “whooooarrrr”.

And Spoon, passing sawdust, knows his time has come once more. He pulls the napkin over his panhead.

Ghost: “whooeee…whoooooooo!! Mr Spoon. Look at me Mr Spoon……I am the ghost of Christmas boozing present. Come with me……come…..come…….”

Spoon: “Oh,,,,p.p..please sir, I don’t want to go anywhere else tonight. W…w…where are you t..taking me?

Ghost: “SILENCE Spoon, you are a most cynical monster. Your time has come. I am taking you to see the true horror of Christmas present. A boozing hell, for which you must be held accountable.”

Spoon recoils in horror. He knows the ghost could mean any one of a thousand despicable Wetherspoon boozers in High Streets across the UK. Tawdry airport lounges, plying booze to the destitute on the cheap, like Methodone in a pint glass. Sure they all belong to him - a profitable business no less - but like any normal chimera with wooden arms - he’d rather boil his gonads in oil than set foot in one.

The ghost grabs the terrified Spoon, and throws him between his legs (a la style of Little Cook in CBeebies Big Cook, Little Cook). And off they fly together.

Spoon (through biting wind): “Oh please ghost…. Tell me……..where we are going…pp..please?

Ghost: “I am taking you to the First Post, one of your chain pubs in a small village near Portsmouth, called Cosham. ‘Tis a typical example of this shameful business.”

A short flight later, they arrive. The ghost dismounts at the garish entrance and the pair enter together.

Ghost: “Take a good look around you Spoon, utensil-armed fiend; experience for yourself the misery you have inflicted on the faces of these bereft people at this joyous time.”

Spoon surveys the scene. It is indeed horrible. A vast over-lit room, badly decorated in Christmas tat, in which the tables are arranged in rows like soldiers on the parade ground. Groups of miserable drinkers – the elderly and dispossessed – stare in silence at their drinks. All are seated. There is no action by the sterile bar.

On one table a bald man in his thirties eats a cheap curry that glows like Sellafield nuclear waste, the only sign of life in the place. Signs compare beer prices with those of the excellent Swan, a decent boozer 10 yards up the road that has somehow survived the recession. True, the Wetherspoon's is cheaper, in every respect.

Ghost: “You see Spoon. Take a long hard look. This scene you see before you is repeating itself across Britain. Where once there was joy - Christmas or not - now there is melancholy. Where once there were local pubs selling prawn snacks on the bar, now there are £1.50 breakfasts and open from 9 am.

Pubs that were once part of the community have been replaced by your cynical business model. Behold, this drinking shop - once a John Menzies -full of unhappy customers, while traditional pubs close by the hundreds year on year."

Spoon surveys the scene once more, has a little think, before a wry smile develops at the corner of his mouth.

Spoon: “When you put it like that me ghostly old China, I can’t wait to meet the ghost of Christmas boozing future. Looks like I’m gonna be quids in.”

Ghost of Xmas present’s rating for the First Post – 0 / 10

Sputnikski

• View by pub
• View by reviewer
• View by place

• Natural Selection,..

  “,….. Why didn’t they live to be 100?Huh? Well, they woz running round all day, hunting mammoths, eating berries,..rumping their little hearts out. No boozing or smoking. They must have been fit as fiddles. Yer Neanderthalls……….I’ll tell you why, it’s … Continue reading →