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[November Thing] All in a days work.
Nov. 17th, 2009 01:41 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
meltedcandle.livejournal.comIt was easy work really. Long hours admittedly but that wasn't a problem. It was more than little bit of a cliche really, an ex-copper running a pub. Not that any of them knew that was the case. Most of them just thought he was the new landlord. Which he wasn't. Johnny had bought the pub, he just ran it. Really he was just the bar manager and one they didn't know at that.
Jack grinned at a crap joke from one of the locals and pulled another pint of stout for him. It was the same joke every time, but it never got old. He'd been here for a while now, how long? Four months now or so, and they were almost accepting him. He would always be an outsider, he knew that. You didn't get to be local in just a few months, maybe in a few generations but that was to be expected. Small towns the world over were like that, Yorkshire was probably one of the worst places for it.
He liked his job. He liked the people. It was his, one bastion of normality in the sea of madness that he found himself swimming in. The people seemed to like him, which was always handy. Admittedly they hadn't liked the change of landlord, nor the change of the pubs name, but such was to be expected. A number of the grumbles had been silenced when he had joined the local cricket team. He wasn't great at the sport, but he was willing to pitch in and help out, and that counted for a lot.
It was odd but he missed having Tash's kids about. Admittedly they were a complete fucking pain in that arse but he missed them. He could tell that most of the old timers missed then as well. They missed having that spark of life about, they missed griping about them messing about with the pool table, or laughing when they managed to steal a bottle from behind the bar, or tutting when Jack gave them a backhand for doing so. Jack smiled to himself when one of them asked where they were, laughed when another one tutted at his response, and glared at another when he criticised them and thier mother. It took a lot to not snarl at them. It always went silent after that had happened.
Oddly the unease was easier to get rid of when they were about. The little shits diving out from behind the bar squealing with a bottle in hand, or them sitting sulking in the back room. Now it hung in the air like some sort of shroud until someone was able to drag it away.
Who knew bloody kids would be a calming influence?
Jack grinned at a crap joke from one of the locals and pulled another pint of stout for him. It was the same joke every time, but it never got old. He'd been here for a while now, how long? Four months now or so, and they were almost accepting him. He would always be an outsider, he knew that. You didn't get to be local in just a few months, maybe in a few generations but that was to be expected. Small towns the world over were like that, Yorkshire was probably one of the worst places for it.
He liked his job. He liked the people. It was his, one bastion of normality in the sea of madness that he found himself swimming in. The people seemed to like him, which was always handy. Admittedly they hadn't liked the change of landlord, nor the change of the pubs name, but such was to be expected. A number of the grumbles had been silenced when he had joined the local cricket team. He wasn't great at the sport, but he was willing to pitch in and help out, and that counted for a lot.
It was odd but he missed having Tash's kids about. Admittedly they were a complete fucking pain in that arse but he missed them. He could tell that most of the old timers missed then as well. They missed having that spark of life about, they missed griping about them messing about with the pool table, or laughing when they managed to steal a bottle from behind the bar, or tutting when Jack gave them a backhand for doing so. Jack smiled to himself when one of them asked where they were, laughed when another one tutted at his response, and glared at another when he criticised them and thier mother. It took a lot to not snarl at them. It always went silent after that had happened.
Oddly the unease was easier to get rid of when they were about. The little shits diving out from behind the bar squealing with a bottle in hand, or them sitting sulking in the back room. Now it hung in the air like some sort of shroud until someone was able to drag it away.
Who knew bloody kids would be a calming influence?
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