The shame

The Summer of 1977.

I was a tall lad for my age although in retrospect attempting to get a pint at the age of 14 was a tad ambitious. Even though I thought my bum-fluff mustache gave me a Magnum Pi type swagger. Nonetheless as the tallest I volunteered to see if the rumours about the liberal approach to licensing in The Royal Oak were correct.

As I opened the door and walked in it felt like the bar was a hundred miles away and on that long walk to the barman I felt sure I heard a couple of sniggers.

However I had rehearsed my order and I wasn't going to bottle it now:

"A pint of beer please"

The guy behind the bar looked me in the eyes and said the words which I'll never forget..

"Certainly, son. What flavour"?

Oh no, they did flavours!! I was immediately assaulted by thoughts of vanilla, strawberry, chocolate but before I could embarrass myself further I was told to " F**k off and come back in five years"

Every time I go past this pub I smile at that memory. I revisited my shame today after a night in Liverpool on my way to visit Mum and Dad and before the never ending drive back to East Lothian.