Literature
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Sit yourself there, pal.
Mind the stool — it’s got opinions.
Like most of the lads in here,
it leans right
and complains when you put weight on it.
Welcome to the Bulldog & Bucket,
Benidorm’s premier establishment
for warm lager, cold chips,
and British men called Alan
explaining Spain to the Spanish.
No, don’t touch the fruit machine.
She’s moody after midnight.
Took ninety euros off a bloke from Leeds
and gave him one cherry
and an existential crisis.
We do food till seven,
karaoke till God loses interest,
and emotional collapse
pretty much all day.
Living the dream, aren’t we?
That’s what we say here.
You learn it quick.
Somebody asks how you are,
you don’t say,
“Well, pal, my wife’s outside by the bins
laughing like a scratched DVD
with Terry from Scunthorpe
while the sea keeps clearing its throat
at the end of the road.”
You say,
living the dream,
and pull another pint.
That’s Shaz there,
if you saw her earlier,
red top, gold
