Mucking Out,the cleaners view

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It’s 7:00 in the morning.

We don’t have a pub dog so there are still the mosaics of crisps on the floor and the mass of dropped peanuts long since forgotten about by the footballers after their closely fought match with that set of dirty bastards from the
other end of the county.The frustration manifests itself in the form of shredding every beermat available into bits
that are just that fraction too big to whistle up Henry’s trunk.Why they had to bring half of the pitch surface
with them just to deposit it on the bar floor is still a mystery.Saying that,they did well in the Plankton League
last year so we should encourage them I suppose.

The Diners have turned up in their droves and have,despite the price of the food,liberally distributed a sample
portion of each onto the floor under their table,presumably in anticipation of the non existent pub dog.

Henry has been my friend for the last 6 years.He is green and black,not very tall and a sucker for anything.He is
the vacuum cleaner.His diet for all of my time has been a mixture of peanuts,crisps,chips,peas,fire ash,cobwebs,
mud,grass cuttings and dog hair.Unsurprisingly he is not putting any weight on.

Why do people bring their dogs into pubs to moult?Come to that,why do dogs bring their people into pubs to moult?
That brown haired thing last wednesday was shedding more than the mutt.Henry took a while to deal with that lot,didn’t half stick to the carpet.

It would seem that there were some caravanners in last night.The footballers are confined to the bar so the
discovery of mud and grass on the lounge carpet indicates the presence of weekend gypsies.Subsequent investigation reveals that all the bog rolls are missing.Oh quelle surprise.

I’m not going to describe swabbing out the Ladies bog.It is a job that is full of surprises,none of them pleasant.
The Gents,however,is a joy in comparison.If anyone has parked a tiger then they have done so accurately and not
left any residue.The half bog roll pushed part way into the sit down U-bend is indicative of some form of
displeasure.My Skittles ruse seems to still be working however.I have taken to placing one channel block on the
top of the drain cage in the bottom of each trap.We use the squodgy blocks.I am a sadist.I push them down a little so that they stay put a little longer and provide hours of fun for those who wish to knock them over.The floor
continues to be dry.

To be continued,if anyone wants to put up with any more of this…

5 COMMENTS

  1. The little Inn we will soon take over has cavers, walkers, anglers, holiday makere with kids and tartan carpets to boot must buy a bigger vacuum cleaner oh joy just what we have all ways wished for :-/

    rob

  2. Very funny post old chap. You right with the conviction of someone who has been there, warts and all. Can’t wait for the next installment. Slightly concerned about your friend Henry though, poor thing. Can I do anything to improve his situation?
    Oh and hi to Rob. Good look with your new pub. I have a little in as well….(smillleyd)

  3. Thanks Chums,hope this passes muster.

    The wet jobs are now completed.While it all dries off I’ll nip outside for a quick drag and play Fagends and Fingernails.

    As I carry the half a hundredweight or so of overfull bottle bin to the other end of the car park to be emptied I ponder idly
    what it might be like to fall asleep in a Hot Tub.

    I regard the abandoned half eaten Doner Kebab.Casually reclining in its open polystyrene box,half full of water from
    the overnight rain that woke me up at 2:00 this morning,seemingly one arm draped over the side reaching for the adjacent
    empty Garlic Mayonnaise pot that would,in sunnier climes,probably be some exotic cocktail.

    We used to have Ashtrays.Lovely things they were.One for each picnic bench.In the manner of Shiney Fings,like Tadpoles,
    after a while they grow legs and then set off on their own to explore the outside world.

    It was a fine day for most of yesterday,ideal for sitting outside.Under and around a few of the picnic benches is a
    liberal distribution of dog ends.The benches chosen for this seem,mostly,to be the ones that were affixed to the tarmac
    to avoid them catching Tadpole Syndrome.

    Dog ends,when wet,will readily disintegrate into a mush which is particularly trying to remove from a tarmac surface.
    This happens on direct contact with any form of yardbrush.It seems to be a law of physics.Today doesn’t disappoint.

    The remaining ashtrays are half full of a deep brown liquid and drowned fagends.In the bucket and sod it.

    I reach into the flowerbed to retrieve the cluster of almost empty glasses thrown into there,yes there is one broken,
    by some well meaning but as per usual thoughtless clumsy type.

    It’s starting to rain.Back indoors to the dry jobs methinks.

    More to come chums,thanks for looking.

  4. We have two copper bartops.To counteract this we have a big tin of Brasso and a handful of spent bar towels.A certain
    amount of Elbow Grease is now required.Once again I find that the Bar Staff haven’t wielded that wond’rously splendid
    thing we all know as the damp cloth.It was busy yesterday,they have earned their,and everyone elses,corn.I remonstrate
    with the Gaffer.He continues to refuse to let me do my "This Is A Damp Cloth" speech.Decent working crew are difficult
    to find he doesn’t want to go through that again.

    Bar tops happy the table tops beckon.Why does Ketchup dry to the consistency of Concrete overnight?A suitable use of
    the damp bartowel cures all ills and all the tabletops become if not a showroom finish,something close.There is a
    knack to this,the damp bartowel has to be at a certain dampness.Too damp leaves smears,not damp enough does nothing
    useful and is a waste of time.

    A quick wipe round the rim of a table removes the residue of spilt beer that hasn’t dripped onto the floor.This also
    reveals the spent chewing gum as left by those kind souls who see fit to make that their calling card.In this world
    some people move mountains by moving their mouth.Chewing gum followers are not among that capable few and their means of disposal does nothing to dispel that image.

    Chewing gum,much like a pensioners erection,goes hard eventually.If you don’t want to spend the time with it then catch
    it while it’s soft.

    That’s about it.A quick once over the cellar while I return the tools of my trade to their storage and all is well.
    A few beermats on tables,take the binbags and cardboard boxes out to the skips,and work out how I’m going to shut the
    lid on them because they are full.

    I’m done.

    "See you in the morning" calls the gaffer as I escape.

    "Dicky Nookie Boss" is my reply.

    Bugger,once again I’ve been inveigled into it.

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