On Tap

I was out the other night and was unwittingly put on the spot. I was at the bar with a mate of mine and he asked what I would like to drink. I peered over and all I could see were the usual suspects on tap, Fosters, Stella, Strongbow and Peter Kay’s favourite John Smiths. As I looked at the symbol on each pump I let out an “ahh” sound in disappointment of not wanting any of those. Not because they’re all putrid pints of piss but because I’ve got history with them all due to them being only available on tap for the last decade. Fosters was the first beer I ever tried. I remember cringing as I tasted it and thinking, “shit I’ve got to be a man and pretend it tastes nice when really all I want to do is regurgitate it on my shoes so I have an excuse to leave.” I then moved onto Stella when I thought I was more of a refined drinker but that stopped once I started to lose my memory after five pints. I used to spend the next day patching it together with various texts from people I didn’t know I even saw the previous night. And of course most of it was embarrassing. Strongbow was the first cider I ever tasted and immediately thought it tasted like gone off boiled sweets so only drank it in desperation. I don’t mind John Smith’s bitter but at that moment in time I wanted something lighter. To be honest I fancied a pint of Becks but there’s no where I know that has it on tap. So after saying “ahh” for about thirty seconds I finally asked for a bottle of Becks even though I really fancied a pint. It may just be the places I visit but wherever I’m out I always find those drinks on tap or the majority of them. Granted I’ve noticed a few Kronenbourg Blanc’s and there is a pub near me that serves Red Stripe which I love but am scared of the locals to go there so I guess I’m stuck with those for the time being.

If anyone knows where they serve Becks on tap let me know.


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“Yeah maybe, but I know what I’m doing with those, I know how to hit someone with it. I can wave in front of them, smack them across the knees and watch them buckle. Then wait, wait for their co-operation and if they still refused I’d smack them across the jaw. But with a weapon like this, what can I do but either wave it in their faces or start firing at them as soon as they refuse to comply.”

“Don’t start chatting about not being able to control a weapon. It’s because you’re scared of using something new. I think you should take the plunge for once, be Gregor’s right hand man. He came to you first to show you his acquisitions. Be a fucking man.”

Charles looks at the pistol. He hates the way it looks, the way it feels all cold and hard. It was almost phallic but yet he couldn’t help but feel incapable if he didn’t accept it. Gregor would laugh at him before spitting on him at the disgust of his refusal. He wants to be part of this new era of theft. It was Marla though he really didn’t want to let down, she thought she married a rampaging hooligan but how can that be true if he wouldn’t even learn to use and carry a gun. The fifteen year old boys that hang round the local shop have air rifles shoved down their pants. It isn’t that much different. He stares at the gun once more then looks back up to Marla who has her eyes fixed on him, waiting for his answer.

“You’re right carrying a gun will make me all powerful, no one will mess with me if I shove this underneath their noses.”

Marla jumps at him and kisses him while wrapping her legs tightly round his waist.

They pull up outside their house. Marla gets out and slams the door and stomps towards the house. Charles then gets out of the car he walks in just as Marla crashes their bedroom door shut upstairs. He was fed up. He couldn’t cope with her tantrums right now and goes over to the kitchen retrieves a glass from the cupboard drops a few ice cubes before pouring some whisky. He slumps himself down on the chair making sure he flops so low that his chin and chest meet while almost all of his legs hang off the end.

The night had been weird. Peter had got him aggravated but he managed to come out on top in their verbal encounter. But soon he’d have to see Gregor about the latest job. Why did he feel in such bondage with this repulsive human? He couldn’t stand him now, his grey stubbly face, his dry peeling skin and his French crop hair style. The thought makes him want to punch Gregor square on the face. He was a weasel. And yet he’ll always do business with him, always invite him in when he comes banging on the door. Never mention not to spit on the door step just before knocking. Maybe for once he should just not get involved with him, slowly distance himself from him. He could hear Marla talking on the phone upstairs probably to Semmi. He decided he liked Semmi, she was a lot more honest with her feelings than her sister and certainly wasn’t as demanding as Marla. Marla wants it all and wants to give no one anything.