- Category: Frontpage Articles
- Last Updated: Monday, 01 May 2017 08:53
- Published: Monday, 17 January 2011 17:11
- Written by Jade D'Anthro
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Zed – a dead-end meet leading to nought
The Dog and Whistle is Zed’s almost-local. He uses the pub quite often but lives nowhere near it, and when he does visit, he never buys a drink. I sit at the bar nursing a pint, trying in vain to look mysterious and threatening. There’s a group of shady-looking young lads crowded around the bandit. One of them is inserting a steady stream of pound coins, and he becomes increasingly animated as the machine fails to yield any reward. His face is flushed and he’s swearing and banging into the machine. The heavily made-up barmaid tuts before turning on her heel and heading off to the back of the pub. There are two old geezers sitting at a table close to the bar and another group of young lads sitting at a table by the door. There is no roaring trade at the Dog and Whistle today, and it’s not hard to see why. The carpet would once have been brightly coloured, a collection of geometric shapes of different sizes. It is mostly red with patches of brown, but in those areas of the pub that experience heavy foot traffic, it has degenerated to a matt black with the texture of chewing gum. The wallpaper has a flower design to it, mostly the colour of yellow, and there’s a faint smell of stale beer and cleaning products. My pint is flat and soapy, and I know for sure it will last me until Zed arrives.