Ladyboys ahoy!

Well, well, ‘The Cod’s Head’ was chilly this evening when I popped in for a quick one before I cooked tonight’s dinner. No fire in the grate and only one punter; a powerful looking young man of middling age drinking Guinness. It seems that the landlord/tenant has given his notice into the brewery and will be leaving at the end of July. “We are not making any money, the brewery is but we’re not”. Hence the lack of glowing coals presumably. The very cold Guinness didn’t make it any warmer, so after a couple of those I had a straight Jameson’s, to keep my drinking Irish and my brain warm.

Shall I tell you how I cooked the oxtail for tonight with flageolet beans, and how delicious it was? No? I will leave it to your imagination then, and anyway, you might detest oxtail. I will just mention that I cooked it yesterday for four hours and served it this evening with purple sprouting broccoli and new potatoes. (Forget I ever mentioned that!)

Why I am writing this is that just before I left ‘The Cod’s head’, three tall transvestites swooped in through the door marked “Public bar”.

(I have to remind you here that the two ancient, black painted doors, both have brass signs on them saying “PUSH”, but one also has the sign “Public bar”, and the other one “Saloon Bar”. Due to “modernisation”, both doors now lead into the same long bar where the dividing wall has been removed. (This reminds me of Alan Bennett, when he described his neighbours habit of demolishing interior walls; “It’s called “knocking through””). When the alterations were first made, a local dignitary, who always used the “Saloon bar,” was confused one day when the “Public bar” door was opened wide for him by a polite person. He came inside, hesitated, went out, and came back in through the other appropriately signed door. Oh I do so love the English class system don’t you?)

So, to return to our transvestites, transsexuals or cross-dressers, who entered boldly with élan and a few subtle flourishes? I had to stay now of course, at least until I knew what drinks they would order and how the ex rugby-playing landlord would react. His shiny red football shirt clashed a bit with the ladies’ frocks, but he hardly blinked I am pleased to say. The chilly pub was transformed with laughter from these three; so full of vitality, vim and vigour. The blond with the shining eyes and long legs, the sultry brunette with the long dark lashes, and the short haired blond with the muscular arms, delighted me. I was loath to drag myself away, drive home and light the stove…

Did I tell you about my new stove? No, well another day…

Pip, pip, The Leg.