Hosstory - Where have all the landords gone? Hosstory - Where have all the landords gone?
It’s rumoured that Tush has left the Top House. Well it’s true. Want to know why?
It was a quiet autumn afternoon as the rain pelted its way earthwards from where it had held itself in the lower atmosphere, there it had held itself back and waited until it was above Filey. True, it was nothing unusual for it to be raining in Filey. Always had done. Always would do, but on this particular rain drenched afternoon Hoss was thirsty.
The nearest pub to have gained its all day licence was the Station. The top house as many had come to call it, though Hoss was not really bothered what gossip had come to know it as, his thoughts were more on fact and what it could provide at this percent time.
Entering through the open front door he found it unusually deserted, the total count of people drinking in the all day establishment being him and…..no one else. He walked to the bar and stood there for a good ten minutes, listening for any signs of life to indicate that the place was indeed open. He was just about to tap the bar for some service when someone spoke.
“Wann an effin fight?” a voice crackled enthusiastically from behind and below the bar right in front of him.
Hoss had learned to avoid anyone uttering these words, especially those more vertically challenged than himself. He’d once ignored someone of this stature who’d asked that very thing, and it being the season of good will, and not wanting bother, had ignored him. Seconds later Hoss had found himself lay creased on the ground clutching tight at his genitals and trying for what he could to relieve the severe pain that had just been inflicted there. The perpetrator of the unprovoked attack, a dwarf, had immediately legged it, laughing, skipping, and shouting obscenities as he went. Why he had done such a thing, no one knows. No doubt it had just given him some inner self-esteem or satisfaction at bringing down someone taller.
Hoss tried his best to see who was asking, and expecting a sudden attack, he changed his position at the bar. Very cautiously he glanced over its top still expecting the worst. There on the floor was a rather old and rusty metal cage, a birds cage. The bottom of the cage was drenched and surrounded by what seemed a large pool of water, and inside sat on a rather old and worn looking perch there sat a rather old and even more worn looking bird. The bird saw Hoss and immediately began to chirp out a barrage of insults and belligerent phrases mixed with constant and increased requests for a ‘square go’.
From the lounge Tush came rushing and without a pause, poured a vodka from a bottle and proceeded to drench the bird with it.
“Polly wants rum” the bird retorted, as if now slightly more happy.
“I’ll give you an effin rum” Tush hissed as he kicked the cage. “I warn you. If I hear any of that again, you’ll be stuffed! Just one effin word. That’s all. Just one.”
There was a long pause as Tush starred eye to eye with the bird, egging or daring it to speak. Finally, after as long a silence, and the bird drinking the fluid from the bottom of the cage. It toppled and fell, lapsing into a silent and unprovoking and drunken sleep.
“Nice pet” Hoss said trying to be as sociable as he could and to calm Tush down. “Had it long?”
“That.” Tush growled as he gave the cage another kick. “That’s been the bane of my life. It’s driven away all of my customers and business. It’s ruined me.”
“Two hundred and fifty quid it cost me. My daughter wanted an effin parrot for her 16 th birthday. So I got her one. The bloke I got it off said that it would be talking before you could say ‘pretty Polly’, its type picked up words really well and it was a quick learner. Two hundred and fifty quid it cost me and all it does is effin swear and want to fight.”
“Where did you keep it when you got it?” Hoss asked.
“At first I kept it in my daughters room until for some reason it started to cry out and moan.”
Hoss looked at Tush, then up to the ceiling of the room they were in, then at the bird. His mind was racing, trying to figure out where the bird had picked up such noises as moaning and even screaming.
I had to take it out of her room. It was keeping her awake. Every time my daughter put out the light, it started.”
“Then what happened.” Hoss asked as amusing thoughts began to form in his mind.
“Well. I kept it in the bar to show it off. It was really popular. My regulars used to get it to talk. They were always round its cage.
“Why don’t you take it back?” Hoss asked as sympathetically as he could.
“Take it back. Take the effin thing back!” Tush shouted. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? A month after I bought the effin thing I tried to take it back to the bloke who I bought it off; stays down Church Street. I got it as far as the bottom of Church Street and took it out of the car. The church service had just turned out of St Oswalds and there they all were in their Sunday best coming across Ravine Bridge. The effin bird started shouting at the top of its effin voice that it wanted a f**k and a fight.”
Tush paused and poured himself a large drink.
Hoss could see that he was upset and his hand was now trebling shaking both the glass and the drink in it.
“What happened?” he asked, finding the story he was being told both intriguing and amusing.
“They got me lifted. They all phoned up on their mobile phones and some even took pictures, and they got me effin lifted. The police were there in no time and they took me and the effin bird away.” He said shakily. “In court I told them it wasn’t my fault, it was the bird. But the judge, the almighty effin judge said that the bird must have got its bad ways from me.”
He took another couple of gulps from the glass.
“Of all the things I’ve done in the past, most of them bad things. I never ever got into trouble with the law. Never. Not once. I told them that I was sorry and that as soon as I was released I’d do for the bird, but they said that it was a rare species and that if I harmed it in any way I’d go to prison for a five stretch.”
“What happened to you” Hoss asked as he tried not to burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“They fined me a grand. An effin grand and gave me three months community service. Three months of shovelling up dog shit in Glen Gardens because of that thing.” Tush hissed as he kicked the cage again.
“Can’t you just kill the bird and say it died? Or let it go out the back?” Hoss suggested.
“No. They send round an effin RSPCA bloke every month to see that I’ve still got it and that it’s alright. If it does croak, then I have to effin phone them and they’ll take it away to find out why. I’m stuck with the effin thing.”
Tush was now taking bigger and bigger gulps from his glass. Sweat was pouring from his brow and the whole of his body was shaking.
Hoss was now finding it harder and harder to hold back his amusement.
“Can you get me a drink?” he sniggered as politely as he could.
“There.” Tush said pointing to the gantry of bottles at the rear of the bar. “Take your pick. They’re all effin full. I haven’t sold a single drink for three months. I haven’t had time to run the place. I’m always out shovelling shit, and any passing customers that do come in get driven away by that thing. I’m selling up and getting out of here.”
That was it, the final straw, not for Tush, but for Hoss. He couldn’t control himself any longer. He was overcome and bent near double by an uncontrollable fit of pure hysterics, the result of which caused his sides and his jaw to ache painfully and a stream of tears to flow from his eyes.
At the sound of this, the bird was awakened and listening to Hoss’s outcry, also began to laugh. The words ‘mocking bird’ would have been shouted by anyone seeing what was going on, but seeing who was not laughing at this, anyone with the leastest inclination to live would not have uttered a single word and kept their mouths shut.
That was it. Tush froze and glared savagely toward the bird, his hands, their knuckles white, were near digging their fingers into the wooden top of the bar. He too couldn’t hold back any longer, his hatred for the bird now had reached its peak and beyond, much more beyond. He reached for, and his hand closed round the neck of the nearest thing he could use to deal the bird justice. The nearest thing being the empty vodka bottle.
The bird saw this and immediately chirped out “Polly wants rum.”
“Rum. Rum! I’ll give you effin rum.” Tush shouted as he threw the bottle hard to one side, smashing it against one of the rooms walls. Grabbing the cage, he lifted it and placed it down with a thump on the bar. “By this time tomorrow you’ll be stuffed and I wont kill you before I do it!” he yelled.
With determination he grabbed at the cage and with one swift movement he tore of its door. The bird on seeing this began to flap frantically as if in some way knowing that its owner was not pleased. It flapped and fluttered in a frantic attempt to trying to escape. Tush pushed his hand inside to grab it. After a short while and a lot of squawking and flapping he had the bird tightly in his grasp, and slowly and precisely he pulled it out into the big bad and bird hating world. He tried to control himself at this point, not wanting to end the bird’s life to be quick. No. He wanted its end to be as slow and as painful as he could possibly make it.
Carefully he held it, looked closely at it, thinking which of its parts he could mutilate without causing its death. He eyed it up evilly from the tip of its beak to the end of its tail and back again. He knew the exact amount of expense that the bird had placed on its bill, and on his life, and he knew that soon, very soon, it would pay. Soon he would be free.
At this very moment, Hoss recovered from his fit and was clawing his way up the end of the bar. He popped his head up suddenly above its top not knowing quite what had just happened or what in fact was going on. The bird saw this and in a sudden panic began to flap to try and escape Tush’s grasp. Tush’s reaction to this was to hold tighter, which the birds reaction was to place one neat and very deep peck to the side of the index finger of Tush’s left hand. Tush’s reaction to this was to curse and let the bird go, which on its freedom flew straight out of the door.
Tush stood there in silence looking at the open and deserted doorway, somehow hoping that it would come back to take its punishment. Hoss in the mean time had recovered and composed himself fully. Approaching Tush he announced that he was going to be on his way, not feeling the least bit thirsty any longer.
“You’re going effin nowhere!” Tush growled. “It’s your fault.” He pointed out. “I’d still have that thing if you’d have not come in my pub and taught it to laugh then frightened it off.” He added.
“I couldn’t help it. It was an accident” Hoss tried to explain.
“The birds gone. I’ll do time. Five years they said. The pub. My life. Everything. I’ll have to get out of the pub and give up everything.” He muttered.
He turned to Hoss with an evil and menacing look on his face. Tush now wanted, and when Tush wanted. Tush got. What he wanted now was blood and he didn’t care what species it came from.
Hoss felt a dull thud as a large bottle of Scotch made contact with his head.
Some time later he was awakened by the loud chiming of what seemed to be a church clock bell. Dazed and not quite conscious, he found that he was sat, no, tied to a chair and there opposite him was sat Tush speaking to someone on his mobile phone. From what Hoss could make out, Tush was arranging something. A job it seemed.
“Spiv. Get Leo and bring the tools. We’ve got a job.”
End