The Homeguard.



About 10 years ago – being in my early 20’s and fancying a change from the pub, I joined some friends who were already members of the Homeguard. It was a Mens club, cost about £13 a year for membership and had the best snooker tables for miles around, fruit machines that were 10p a go and paid out up to £100 and a handy rule that states that ‘the last person to leave, locks up’ so that will be 6 pints at last orders please and I’ll stay till 2am playing snooker and lock the door behind me when I’m done.


It was a good/bad place. Mainly occupied by pensioners who drank more whiskey than most, but it also had some diverse characters:

The bloke who repeats his stories daily
The reformed alcoholic
The heaviest smoker in the world
The bloke who clearly had a job but never attended i
The Porn dealer
The lorry driver/tobacco seller
The bloke who you could barely understand – you would just nod and agree with

And my favourite – the bloke who lived a few doors away – so would turn up in his slippers.


One bloke was a compulsive fruit machine addict. He would put at least £50-£60 in it a night and play it until it was switched off. If he didn’t win the jackpot or get his money back – he would be outside the bar at 10:45 the next morning waiting for it to open so he could continue playing and get his money back.


One of its rules was ‘No Women Allowed’ – this ensured that its patrons were protected from their wives. I remember being there one day when a woman came in to the bar. It was just like a black guy walking into a Ku Klux Clan meeting. The blokes were dumb struck – The enemy had blatantly encroached on sacred soil. The collective sigh of relief when she walked up to the bar, left a yellow pages on the bar and walked out was like a zeppelin being deflated.


Which leads me onto the next one – I imagine some of the people left alive that drink there still talk about the day ‘the black man’ came in for a drink. He’d been signed in as a guest to play a game of snooker – some of the old blokes faces were frankly brilliant – like they were witnessing a miracle.


Everyday – the same faces at different times, ordering the same drinks. Some blokes would always come after a row with their wives and park their cars out of sight so they wouldn’t be spotted. Others parked their cars at 6pm and promptly got back in them at 11:30 after 10 pints and a few whiskeys. Drink driving was more common place than anywhere I’d ever been – yet they all seemed to get away with it.

It was great while it lasted, not sure what its like there now…

I imagine there’s probably still some heated debate about the smoking ban at the committee meetings and a definitive continuing ban on the presence of women who are still only allowed in on the following days: Xmas Eve, New Years Eve and a funeral wake.
(Pat mustard, Fri 22 Jun 2012, 12:39, 4 replies)

isn't this just every local pub ever?
it perfectly describes my local.
( janet aylia y'all motherfuckers need jesus, Fri 22 Jun 2012, 12:48, closed)

Sounds like a fun place.

( skeltonator Needs some new daps., Fri 22 Jun 2012, 14:33, closed)

Sitcom in this, no?
*click*
( Mr Mann I love pigs, best of all the animals, Fri 22 Jun 2012, 17:44, closed)

cheers
(McChinaman banned, Sat 23 Jun 2012, 7:27, closed)