So Long Whisky Pete

We have said goodbye for the last time to Whisky Pete. It seems he had been lying in his flat, cold & alone, for two weeks before a neighbour was alerted by the smell. "Here's my girl," he would say, when I'd find him in his usual spot at the far end of the bar. I saw that man drink seven or eight pints & three or four chasers, every day for years, & get up from his stool without wobbling. "Now don't be late home," he would say to me, putting on his coat to leave the pub, "I'll leave the landing light on for you..."

I've been thinking a lot about names & the identifying characteristics we connect to people. There was Whisky Pete, One-legged Steve, Alf-from-the-boats, Des-with-the-parrot, Thin Lizzy, Big Trevor & Mad Ben. There was Simply Red Pete, Scottish Pete, & Pete-who-knows-about-computers. There was South African Paul, Scott the Kiwi, Australian Ollie, & the Turk. There was Lesbian Toni, Loud Cath, Little Lucy, Aunt Jane & Mrs Grumpy. And me? They called me 'Queenie'. Or Posh Bird. Sometimes I miss them. Anyway, I never knew why he was called Whisky Pete, because he preferred lager.

I cooked roast duck with an apricot & brandy sauce last week, & braised petit pois francaise with little gem hearts. Made the Husband smile. He has been doing a little more of that recently. We are set to move into the new house in three weeks or so, & I am thinking that at last I might get the picnic company of the ground as the new kitchen is fantastic. We are interviewing another management couple for this place tomorrow, but I am concerned because they have Staffordshire Bull Terriers, which are not the most friendly of dogs, are they? Or do they just look scary? The Husband has got a lead on a new job, which could be promising, so fingers crossed. It's all go here, lots of twists & turns, but full steam ahead. Perhaps a new life beckons at last...

So long Whisky Pete, don't forget to leave the light on.