Ye Olde Greene Manne, Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire   1 comment

 

Rickmansworth pubs seem to have more nut cases than most. A few months back, I was treated to an absolutely ludicrous encounter at the Coach and Horses then earlier on this day’s trip I had to piss on my territory in the Rose and Crown due to another fellow that seemed to think he was funny enough to fuck with a stranger. Now, I was at the bar in Ye Olde Greene Manne after getting lost in the woods on the LOOP Sections 13/14 run, steam pouring off my head but my body a bit cold from the rain. There was a guy at the bar drinking a half pint and a woman waiting to be served.

“NO!” the guy said, emphatically.
“Pardon?” asked the woman who awaited her drinks.
“Not…you. I was talking to the chap.” He looked at me and repeated, “no!”
“What’s the question?” I asked, immediately thinking of Gertrude Stein’s last words as told by Alice B Toklas. This made me smile so I continued, “oh, right, I was just wondering ‘does my ass look big in this.’ You’re too kind.”
“No,” he said again with the authority of the bar manager denying me a drink; but, then he turned and started having a conversation with a sideboard full of dishes and I realised he was just ill. I took my Black Sheep to the porch…it wasn’t really that cold out.

 

 

 

Soon he joined me and apologized. “I don’t know what offended me, but I was overwhelmed with rage.”  I have that effect on too many people, I thought.
“Privilege,” I answered.  “It’s the curse of the suburbs.”

“Is that an American accent?” And, so we restarted and I got his story and a feel for the parts that he embellished and the parts he just imagined. At first, he said worked construction but as the story progressed and he found out that I actually had worked in carpentry, he admitted that worked in construction management for his family’s firm until he got an injury that he was due to start physio on in the morning.

“Head injury, was it? Someone hit you with an iron rod?”
“No, my leg. And, eh, my back. And, no one hit me.”
“The day is young. Back injury, you say. Good meds? You know some synthetic opioids render antipsychotics inactive.”
“You don’t say?”
“Oh, it’s true. But, your mileage may vary. Oh, speaking of mileage, I’m off. Would you be a dear and take my glass back to the bar?”

I’m like a magnet for these guys. If you want to find one, here’s a map.

 

 

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Posted March 14, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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One response to “Ye Olde Greene Manne, Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire

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  1. Pingback: London Outer Orbital Path (Sections 13-14) | The Endless British Pub Crawl continues...

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