stark26 avatar


Mid-week, close season had been prudent.
‘The garlic must be good,’ I thought, loading my holdall in the back of the hatchback. No vampires.
I chose a local tavern for lunch, followed by the leisurely drive home from my writer’s break.
The tavern was tiny. A fisherman sat in his oilskin weatherproofs and fluorescent garb. He had a rather smart looking neckerchief but it was well worn. ‘29’ 15” N, 36’ 53” W’ he kept muttering.
I felt sorry for him.
‘And put a drink in for him,’ I said, when paying.
‘Who for?’
The owner looked very puzzled.

4 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Jamie Clapperton about 1 year ago

    Good un . Do spirits drink spirits? ;-)

  • avatar

    Neville Hunt about 1 year ago

    Eek! Love it!

  • avatar

    Michael Cunliffe 5 months ago

    I think spirits do drink spirits after hours, but when the publican’s dog was accidentally killed, after getting its tail cut off by a customer slamming the door, the landlord said it would have to come back as a spirit dog - as he couldn’t risk retailing spirits after hours.

  • avatar

    Neville Hunt 5 months ago

    Oooooh, Michael... May you be forgiven! (Of course... more like that p-lease!)

Join the conversation

Sign up or Sign in to leave a comment on this drabble.