The station hotel as I think I have mentioned before is a popular spot for the strange, disenchanted locals.
Some
of them are obviously stranger than others.
Now
one of the regulars is Wobbly Bob.
It’s
funny how nicknames come about but sometimes they don’t tell the whole story
and sometimes give entirely the wrong impression. Wobbly Bob had no wobbly
characteristics at all.
He
was not so called because he was wobbly in the literal sense, he never wobbled,
as he wasn’t big or round or obese.
On
the contrary he’s small and thin in fact almost emaciated.
He
was called Wobbly Bob because he was of a nervous disposition in fact, he was
scared of everything.
If
he stepped on a squeaky floorboard he would jump in the air in fright.
He
was afraid to go to sleep in case he didn’t wake up.
He
was afraid of going outside in the fresh air because there was so much of it.
Any
form of transport Car, bus, train or plane filled him with dread in case they
crashed.
Microwaves
scared him because he was afraid of being irradiated.
Food
terrified him because of additives and e numbers, cancer causing pesticides or
genetically modified organisms.
He
feared the sunlight in case he got skin cancer and the dark because the bogey
man might get him.
Bob
was never seen without gloves on even in summer.
He
also had the usual phobias like heights, enclosed spaces and insects as well as
some more obscure ones like Cupboards, drawing pins, sticky tape and
newspapers.
So
you might wonder why someone so terrified of everything would take himself in
to a smoke filled bar and drink alcohol.
Poisoned
Ivy is the answer.
He
would dice with death in the smoky bar every night just to be close to Ivy.
Under
his arm he carried in a plastic bag his own mug, sterilised, which he presented
to the landlord who filled it to the brim with the local real ale Dappled Dog.
Why
did he risk poisoning himself with local brew when he was terrified of
everything else?
Dutch
courage, without a pint or two of Dutch courage he would never have spoken to
Ivy he would have been too scared.
This
ritual had been going on for five years.
Poisoned
ivy is not as her name might suggest, poisonous.
She
is however not very friendly she never smiles and rarely speaks but when she
does it is invariably unpleasant and sometimes quite venomous.
She
always sat in the same place at the bar and woe betides anyone who sat in her
seat.
Ivy,
when roused had a look that could curdle milk and had been known to stare with
such intensity so as to stop traffic.
But
despite her unfriendly disposition she was a very generous woman and always put
her hand in her pocket for any good cause without being asked. If she didn’t no
stranger would ever ask her.
Things
are very seldom as they appear, and Ivy is no exception.
It’s
true to say that she did not have a very sunny disposition, but her poisonous
outer shell was merely protection against a cruel world.
On
one particular night Wobbly Bob had one more pint of Dappled Dog more than his
usual and when he had all but finished this extra beverage, he leant his head
towards Ivy and spoke at length in her ear.
After
he had finished, he straightened up and shuffled uneasily.
Then
Ivy, Not known to laugh looked at Bob and appeared to smile.
It
wasn’t obviously that she was smiling it could have been a combination of poor
lighting and too many pickled onion crisps.
But
she was smiling and while the whole bar was looking on Ivy finished her drink
and smiling again left the bar with Bob at her side.
I
couldn’t help thinking that she’s bound to make him take his gloves off and he
would have to get over his fear of confined spaces pretty quick.
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