Sheila's Blokes

Another excerpt  from Tales of A Publicans Wife by Lyn McGettigan. Read more about her upcoming book here.

Brian the Publican always said, “where the girls are the boys are” and how right he was. 

The girls flocked in, all dressed to the nines and the boys followed even faster. We had young, single, attractive blokes, middle-aged blokes who still thought “they had it” and perhaps they did. 

There is something attractive about a good-looking, 40 something bloke. Then there were the “red-eye specials”. I call them this because they could be any age and the yellow eyeballs with red road maps gave away one of the loves of their lives. 

We had the older “sophisicates”— well-dressed, well-heeled with well-brushed egos. We had hospitality workers, advertising types, bankers, television and radio personalities. They were all there. “Sheila’s” was the place to be.

There was the bloke who took a shine to me, or maybe I was putting his attention on a higher plane than it deserved. It didn’t matter that the “Boiler” (the elderly lady who was employed to arrange flowers and check the table settings),  knew his name and game and was always close by to keep an eye on him. It didn’t matter that I was married and Brian was usually visible. If not seen, heard, for he always had a good story to tell and an audience to tell it to. This day this bloke bought his scotch and soda and as I was standing near the bar, asked me if I would like a drink.

Well, is the Pope a Catholic? Of course I said yes. I had about half an hour before Brian came back from taking the kids to sport, and was due to pick me up. The “Boiler” was having a middy and a Winnie Red with Bill the Wine Waiter. Our friend thought he was safe, no such luck, The “Boiler’s” beady eyes shrivelled. She was on alert! He started with the line that was guaranteed to win any girl’s heart.

“You’re not a bad sort.” 
Ok. Right. Sip of red wine. Another swallow of scotch and soda. Where is this going?

“Thank you,” I replied.

Repeat. 
“You’re not a bad sort but there is one thing. Why don’t you take elocution lessons and learn to speak without that accent. You’re not in the bush now.”

I took another sip. He took another sip, pleased with himself.

“Why don’t you finish your drink?” I said. “You’re barred.”

I still have a bush accent. No-one has tried to improve it again.



This content for this blog are excerpts from the forthcoming Tales Of A Publican's Wife, by Lyn McGettigan. Editor Jan Cornall and Lyn are preparing the book for publication in 2014.

Please leave a comment or get in touch HERE if you have a Sheila's story to tell.

(c) Lyn McGettigan 2013