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(, Sun 1 Apr 2001, 1:00)
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Excellent piece TRL
Spookily, it really resonated with me - and with a short story I've written for a competition. 300 words or less on a piece of art, in this case, a Toby Jug. Here it is, I think you'll like it, oh, and if you're not familiar with Toby Jugs - do a quick google images first.

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The Spirit of Orders Last

Greetings good people and welcome! My name is Jug, Toby Jug. What’ll you have? They’re on me.
Cheers!
Now then, time was you’d find me, settled on my shelf, from early doors to chucking out, in tavern, inn or pub. On wet winter Wednesday afternoons I’d chew the fat with elderly gents slowly sipping their halves of bitter and on Friday night, I’d be in the crush swapping jokes and gossip and slaking hard-earned thirsts. I’ve wetted more babies heads than I care to remember, settled pre-nuptial nerves and seen young gallants off to war. I’ve swum with poor souls drowning their sorrows and kept a friendly, roving eye on wenches and lasses out for a good time. I’ve hailed returning heroes and presided over far too many wakes.
I’ll have the same again thanks…or maybe a pint of dark porter, stout or scrumpy. Or perhaps a sherry wine, punch, or a drop of rum or brandy…
Where was I? Oh, yes, then came the cocktail lounges and wine bars - music loud enough to deafen - and theme bars: no proper ale from wooden barrels and stiff pumps but alco-pops and gassy lager; no sawdust on the floors but wide-screen TVs on the walls. Bottles replaced pint pots and smokers are sent outside, like naughty boys acting up in class. Burly chaps on the door waving in weaving herds of stag-party lads and hen-night harridans screeching and tottering around the towns…time to leave: no place for old Toby there, last orders rang for me many moons ago.
So now I sit here, alone with my memories, my flagon and my trusty pipe in my safe, glass case.
So come on now, drink up and off you go.
Haven’t you got homes to go to?
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EDIT: I'm off now for the long weekend. Have fun y'all
(, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:08, Reply)

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