the world of work is changing and the modern executive spends a
great deal of his time at his local hostelry. Ok, I know what you're
saying, this chap has been retired for far too long, he can't keep
up with the modern pace of life, he is sooo out of touch! Ok, that
may be true. I took in the concept of flexitime but only with what
I believed was a healthy dose of cynicism. Now I read that the power
of wifi permits this flexitime to be spent not so much at home but
more at the pub. Utopia, I'm all for that! many of you may shout!
The hours are much more suitable.
I wonder if
it really does work? I mustn't indulge in preconceived ideas so
I thought I should give it a try.
I recall that
FirstBus (other bus services are available, but not on this route!)
are installing wifi in their buses so, having bent my brain around
their timetables, established that today is not a Saturday, Sunday,
a bank or school holiday I make my way to the bus stop. The bus
is on time and I flash my bus pass, once again I am slightly offended
that the driver does not question my qualification for being in
posession of such a thing. Just a quizzical look is all that is
needed to make my day, not much to ask surely! A young lady gets
up to offer me her seat - no forget that, I can't expect your mind
to stretch that far!
is Rhossili and the Worms Head Hotel, (other hostelries are available
but not at this location). After an exhilarating dash along Gower's
narrow lanes we arrive and with trembling knees we are pleased to
reach terra firma once more. I head for my destination and order
an espresso, establish their wifi password and take a seat by the
window. The day is sunny and clear, the tide is rolling in and the
ubiquitous surfer is at play. I wonder if he knows he's ubiquitous?
How could he possibly know, after all he's always here surfing!
This view really is fantastic (other fantastic views are available
but they are only three in number, this is true! The view has been
voted the fourth best in the world!)
So here I am.
My mission is to test the theory that work of acceptable standard
can be produced in a pub!
Out comes my
Samsung tablet (other tablet computers are available), I connect
to their wifi and I scratch my head searching for inspiration. About
what shall I write? I know I shall write a story about testing the
theory that work of acceptable standard can be produced in a pub.
Now where shall I start? Hallelujah! It's under way already.
This is wonderful,
everything I need is here at hand. No more breaking concentration
going to the kitchen to make my favourite beverage, a raised arm
and a click of the finger is all that's needed. So I raise and I
click. The barman looks up.
he asks "what was it you had?" But I was deep in thought
and unable to remember the word 'espresso'.
um ..." I said, but he came to my rescue.
ok sir" he said " I know what you want." I return
to planning the rest of my offering.
this? Black body, creamy head? Ok so far but rather large for an
espresso! The taste is familiar, my mind is going back to a Six
Nations match in Dublin, a rather hazy weekend is all I can recall,
well, let's give it a try, mmm very tasty, perhaps a bit chilly
but it will do. My goodness it's a Guinness, (other stouts are available
but I don't wear their logos on my T shirt) this wasn't part of
the plan but I abhor waste so I shall just have to grit my teeth,
not literally - that would be both silly and messy and I have never,
to my face, been called that!
Anyway I have
got this great story for you, I have the vague idea of a definite
outline and I'm pretty shure that you will enjoy it, jusht give
me a little time. Goss, I'm thirshty, this glassh musht be leaking,
I've reached the dregsh. I raishe my arm and cli ... cli ... CLICK
my flingersh. The barman's fashe lokksh very blurry so he must be
pretty drunk but amashingly he sheems to know what I want and another
glash of the dark elicshir is plashed on the table. There are now
two ubiq ... ubiqu ... UBICWITUSH shurfers, both looking very shimilar,
I wonder why?
Now where wash
I? Oh yesh, I wash trying to prove that good work can indeed be
produced in a pub. I am feeling a bit weary, excuse me while I lay
my head down, ah thatsh better.
I feel a hand
on my shoulder, I open my eyes, the light hurts. The barman tells
me that the last bus goes in 15 minutes so I wend my weary way back
to the bus stop.
Sho ish it or
ish it not possible to do your work in a pub?
Er ... I'm sure
I wrote a cracker of a story at the Worms Head Hotel but do you
know, I have searched high and low for it with, sadly, no success.
I distinctly recall placing it in my dropbox so that I could seamlessly
transfer it to my PC when I got home but its gone.
Of course I
blame technology! We are moving ahead too quickly for our own good.
Anyway, must go, I've got a meeting of the Luddites Society tonight.