Breathing Difficulties Part 1.
I am unconcerned. Oddly. He begins to squeeze and I feel his fingernails closing around my windpipe.
I become slightly concerned. What with not being able to breath and that.
It is was many years ago. When I ran pubs for a living. I didn’t think then that ‘blogging’ about the incident in the future would highlight the lie in a previous post about not hitting someone since I was a teenager when this obviously occurred in my twenties. Grrr.
The not breathing thing is becoming something of a chore and without really thinking I reach back and land this gentleman a good one straight on the cheekbone and he briefly disappears from sight.
I am eight stone and five foot eight. I am pleased with myself. I’ve floored someone. I haven’t done this since high school.
Some days previously. Myself and colleague invite favourite customers from our previous Public House to our current Public House in nearby town. They attend.
‘Wow this is a bit rough.’
Us: No no. We’ll sort it. It’ll be quite nice soon.
I had to remove needles with rubber gloves from the toilets every morning because the cleaners, somewhat understandably, weren’t too keen.
So they were all there. And I smack a guy in the face. In front of them. They know me as chatty friendly guy. Hmm.
Within seconds tables are flying. Recently twatted gentleman gets up with alarming ease. Police are summoned. Upon their arrival half the clientele vanish. As they are all Wanted.
I am nicked. And carted-off to the nearest Police Station. For assault. I smacked someone who was attempting to choke me to death over a brief dispute over the current price of a pint of Stella Artois.
It is decided that I am not a major menace to society and am DRIVEN (they gave good service in those days) back to my Pub.
Assorted previous customers of Quite Nice Pub In Which No-One Died Or Tried To Kill Anyone Or Inject Heroin Ever are leaving never to return.
I don’t really blame them. ‘Good luck’ they say.
Oddly they never returned.
And we weren’t there long..