Monday 23 June 2014

Tracksuit Cider Guy

I'm sure every pub has one.

Every time I walk into the pub, no matter what day or time, he is there. Slightly slouched, wearing a lurid hoodie and tracksuit bottoms, slurping down whichever the strongest cider is.

And he will stand there. Often interjecting about going to see Aerosmith in concert or his latest incident at the CAB or the hotel he lives in in a nearby seaside town. Easily pleased, he will laugh at pretty much everything I say. Now, I know I'm funny (!), but I doubt I'm as constantly hilarious as he seems to think I am.

And so the day wears on. He drinks many pints of cider, abv immaterial, and his stories get more and more incoherent and lacking resolution as time goes by. And please, never get him on one is of his pet subjects - the door staff and law enforcement in the town.

Apparently, the cops are all corrupt and the bouncers are all psychos. From what I've gathered, this attitude seems to stem from a couple of incidents in Burnley and Accrington about 20 years ago. Plus the fact the local bouncers will "unjustly" refuse him entry to pubs on the basis of wearing a hoodie and a tracksuit. He will then go to the gents in ever increasing frequency. I presume that given his age (well over 50), his prostate is the size of a football.

I'm sure he puts off as much business as he provides. The pub did put on Thatchers Cheddar Valley (6%) in an attempt to make sure he got "finished off early", but seemingly he is now immune to this. Is there a stronger cider available? I'm sure they are looking.

It's sad , to be honest. And the state of this man is a cautionary tale for all pubgoers about taking your pleasures too far. Drink often, but leave early.


  1. I did think that when I met him, but since he's never mentioned the Smoking Ban, I discounted it as implausible.

  2. Of course the real Mudgie would be sitting on a bench seat reading the Daily Mail, nursing a pint of brown bitter and chuntering to himself about fucking pillocks at the bar.