bichoose (bichoose) wrote,
bichoose
bichoose

Thursday 25th February 2010.

Some years ago,when my drinking buddy and i used to sloth off for a social few pints of foaming mirth. In amongst the beery burps, giggles, as the table filled with empty pint pots and as we had put the world to rights, we gently used to slide under the table and giggle amongst the dust bunnies who were quite as drunk as us, one such particular day on the way down, i promised him that when his lad reached the age of eighteen and should he not be able to take his lad himself..i would take him for his first official real pint of foaming mirth.
Yesterday the day came....and so stepping out into the dark night we ambled up to the working mans club where hairy chests abide and builders bottoms protrude over ill fitting trousers, as play on the large snooker tables plops to the sinking of coloured balls, the air no longer hangs in wisps,no curling up of smokers coughs in this year of 2010. Quite simply banned such whiffs of smoke, as i scribble this should this young lad fill his pants and those of some sweet creature down the dusty pipe of the future would he be able to do such for his own youth or will the roller coaster of the puritan brigade have rolled over and slain the foaming mirth few, who deem to slurp beer in such places as working mans clubs.
However last night was not the time to think such,simply time to celebrate Youth moving into man, now by law able to fight, fuck, stick a finger in wedded bliss for his country should the need arise. As we sat, skirted around such subjects as music song football..we came to the one simple word eighteen, one of the few birthdays that do not blur into dusty history books, with out some wince in the mind saying yes ha i remember some drunken youth/man doing such antic's of the day....when i was eighteen i was glad to get there, the relief,in hope, in one word freedom i can still recall today even sat here playing fingers on this machine...thinking the utopia of such a word could be kept inside my pocket. and released when ever i felt the choosing.
For this young man before me..he felt old, aged,the adrenalin rush for the past two years of obtaining entry to pubs,clubs,bars,not knowing whether he would gain access has now gone. He withdrew from his pocket a host of false Identity cards which can be had on any given campus...his tales of the past two years made me sit there in wonder....and for the first time think how indeed such a chasm lies between generations..To think old at eighteen made me think Ha..as old Hugh would say.....and nothing more,as his tales beat out the droning television above what else could one think.....?? The night was young the clock ticked we finished our pints walked out into he cold night air,for himself out later with his chums clubbing down town,for me i walked to the bus stop on the far side of town i marveled at the night lights from streaming buildings, i stopped on the bridge covering the motorway, watched the shinny lights whiz past,saw one giant metal bird take off from the distant airport hoping it was going somewhere warm..i pulled up my collar and headed for home and wondered where indeed had all the years gone since i was eighteen. I was neither sad,or despondent for his outlook,thankfully he had some dreams yet to come,i simply in awe of the night sky and the fact i had been able to keep that simple promise spoken over a few pints of foaming mirth.

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