The Queens Birthday.

Story by Big M.

“’oo mixed up me spice labels?” Thundered a voice from the bowels of the pub.

“Dunno, Granny, maybe you did!” Replied Merv, chuckling quietly to himself, as he emptied the new glass washer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, pretty sure!” Which wasn’t entirely true, as Merv was unsure of most things.

“Ahem.” Foodge cleared his throat, hoping to alert Merv to a customer in need of refreshment, vis a vis, himself.

Merv looked up to find Foodge sat on a bar stool, resplendent in a brand new three

piecer, with a new black Fedora perched at a rakish angle, young Frank Sinatra style. “Ah, Foodge, what can I do you for?”

“Sir Foodge.” Replied Foodge, sotto voce.

“Stir who?” Merv was missing the point.

“You know, our Monarch’s impending birthday celebrations, regal awards and such.” Foodge was mentally willing Merv to place a canoe under a tap, and decant some amber ale.

“Oh, the Queen’s birthdee.” Merv heaved the last tray of steaming glasses onto the bar. “She’s a great old girl, isn’t she?”

“’oo are youz calling an old girl?” Granny appeared at Merv’s elbow with a bowl of wedges. “Oh, Foodge, aren’t you a picture of sartorial excellence?” She swooned, then recovered and headed straight back to the kitchen.

“Is Granny OK?”

“Yeah, you know, that time of the month.”

“June is a lovely time of the year, but getting a bit crisp.” Foodge straightened his tie that was covered in tiny scales of justice.

“Nah, the minstrel cycle.” Merv started to pour a pint, but the keg was clearly empty, as froth sprayed across the bar. “Manne” He roared. “Empty keg!”

“Yes, she used to be a keen cyclist.” Foodge had managed to avoid the spray of stale beer.

Merv gave up on the biology lesson. “What’s all of this ‘sir’ business?”

“Ah, glad you asked.” Foodge instantly warmed to the subject. “A little birdy told me that someone…someone local was in line for a knighthood for services to The Law.”

Merv was more unsure than ever.” ‘oo would that be?” As he pushed a canoe of Porcine Pale Ale across the decaying well covered with patina bar.

It was Foodge’s turn to tap the side of his nose, knowingly. “You know, a well known barrister, a servant of everyone from lowly bar flies, to representatives of Her Majesty herself.”

“That boat mighta sailed, old son.” Merv pouring liters of frothy spume from the aforementioned tap. “Manne, is that keg on, yet?”

“No, I don’t think she gets around in in the QE II anymore, Mr Merv.” Mumbled Foodge

through bits of potato wedge.

“No, the knighthood.” Merv now had a sink full of foam, and it was still coming. “Manne, purge the pipe properly, will ya?”

“What, there’s a knighthood boat?” Foodge pushed the empty glass back across the bar, hoping for a refill.

“No, as in, we don’t have knighthoods, and the Queen’s Birthday has been and gone, and, they only give awards out for actresses who live overseas, failed CEOs, and already, highly successful businessmen.” Merv grinned as ale started to replace foam coming from the tap. “Why is replacing a keg like rocket science for Manne?”

Our boy was crestfallen, and eagerly accepted another pint.” I’ll tell yer what, Foodge, you’ll always be Sir Foodge to me!”