Keith's Ramblings

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It was another busy evening at The Baaamy Inn, and all the usual suspects were there, “I bumped into Reggie yesterday”, said Fred, “she wasn’t looking where she was going, anyway, she told me they’d given her a new job as an assistant registrar at The Town Hall in the ‘Hatch ‘em, Match ‘em and Dispatch ‘em department’; “it’ll probably be her birth-day on Wed-nes-die” quipped joker Colin to bemused stares from those around him.

“How are things at the poultry farm?” asked Babs; Charles, aka Charlie and the Chicken Factory had been busy of late, “a load more were born yesterday and I’m expecting more to hatch today,” he said, “I’d had enough of cocks, hens and chicks last night and needed some light relief so I popped down to The Comedy Inn for their Open Mike Night, the first act was a bloke called Keef who told a load of jokes about bloody chickens!” *

For fear that might set Colin off, Charles offered to head to the bar for a round of drinks, but when barmaid Brenda was mid-pint, the beer tap spluttered to a halt, so Landlord Len pulled open the hatch and climbed down the creaking steps to the cellar in order to change the barrel  – everyone knew what they were about to endure!

It’s very echoey down there and Len always takes advantage of the cathedral-like acoustics (his description, not ours) and bursts into song; this time it was to be his rendition of Nessun Dorma, however, just as he got started there was a clang and a clonk as several barrels toppled over, one of which landed on his toe; suddenly he was less Luciano Pavarotti and more Leniano Pottimouthi as he yelled an expletive – modesty prevents me from being any more specific – “OY!” yelled Suzie, from the next table, “we’ll have none of that language in your pub!”.

As things returned to normal, with convivial chit-chatting, knitting needles click-clacking, and Bill burping, Arthur produced a bottle of medicine from his pocket, tapped it against the others’ glasses and with a ‘cheers, down the hatch’, he took a swig; well, Len wasn’t impressed, “OY, you can’t bring your own booze into my pub – oh, it’s medicine, sorry, but put it away because I don’t want it giving anybody ideas”.

Seeing Len open the hatch in the floor had reminded Colin of the hatch in his ceiling and some jokes he’d been waiting for the opportunity to use; “my granddad’s wig-making machine is in my attic, it’s a family hair loom – I‘ve got a boat business in my attic, sails are going through the roof – the top room of a house is always problem attic – if you keep pills up there, it’s a drug attic….”, and on and on and on, anyway, I’m out’a here, see you next week!.

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Thanks to Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting Six Sentence Stories where this week’s given word is Hatch.

*If you missed the 100-word piece I wrote yesterday about a stand-up comedian and his chicken puns, don’t think you’ve got away with it! – here’s the 74-second audio that accompanied it!