Our Dad’s Battle with the booze

 

An Englishman’s home is his castle

A platitude, most of us know

But, if our home was a castle

It’s one where you wouldn’t want to go

 

There were nowt castle-like about our house

Except for walls, that were covered in mould

And archaic windows, with hardly no glass

Which could scarcely keep out the cold

 

But still….. to us it was home

A bit pokey, but home, nonetheless

And we always felt safe there, till t’explosions started

With flying glass, debris and mess

 

What had dad done, to cause such a kerfuffle?

Explosions, and thuddings, and bangs

Had he upset the Grimstone low Mafia?

Or one of them flick-hammer gangs?

 

Was it, maybe a vengeful love rival?

Or someone he’d crossed in the past?

Or was it some practical joker?

Who’d planted a bomb, for a blast?

 

No.. none of it… I’ll tell you what happened

To cut a short story….. long

Our Dad had, had a go at home-brewing

And got t’recipe totally wrong

 

Dad’s mate Puggy, was a legend at brewing

Concoctions….. to fuel any rocket

They may have sat heavy on t’stomach

But boy they were light on the pocket

 

“Fourpunce a pint” said Dad. “Fourpunce a pint”

“Think of the saving we’ll make”

Mum weren’t happy, he’d blown two weeks Giro

But what price, a bit of earache

 

Each of the kits made up forty pints

That’s four hundred…… cos he’d bought ten kits

At first, it was all going swimmingly well

But now it was more like the Blitz

 

When beer ferments, sugar turns into booze

The more sugar, the stronger the brew

But it also produces more carbon dioxide

And that’s summet, our Dad never knew

 

Puggy always added an extra spoonful

The man was a true alchemist

And Puggy’s home brew was well fabled

For getting a hard-drinker pissed

 

One extra sugar, thought Dad

No… bugger that, I’ll make it four

And his cacky-hands weren’t that steady

So it was probably just a bit more

 

Dad made another great saving

Proper bottles were just an expense

And so he used old Alpine Pop bottles

Which saved him a couple more pence

 

Alpine Pop came in a two litre bottle

With a plastic screwcap on the top

And them big bottles didn’t half make a bang

Crackling and fizzing nonstop

 

BANG…. “Bloody hell. There goes another”

The back passage is now out of bounds

Explosions, becoming more regular

Pre-empted by loud hissing sounds

 

Two hundred bottles, fizzing and banging

The back passage a warzone…… and

 You couldn’t get out through the back door

Without going through no-man’s-land

 

Our bog was an outside privy

Which we shared with Raz, from number three

So we had to go out the front door

And run around the block, when we needed a pee

 

“It’s no good” said Dad. “Things have gone just too far”

“This is my mess, so I’ll put it right”

“I’ll have to go in there, and loosen them caps”

“Cos I think that they’re just a bit tight”

 

“A quarter of a turn” he said “That’s all it needs”

“To let just a little gas out”

“Loosey Lefty, Righty Tighty” 

“A mantra he used when in doubt ”

 

Some things, are easier said than done

A bit like belling the cat

It took nerves of steel to enter that passage

Where t’explosions were happening at 

 

Dad had a world war one greatcoat

An heirloom, passed down from his dad

It seemed like he’d had it for ever

The only memento he had

 

That greatcoat was used for all manner things

A draught-excluder, a blanket, a screen

If it could talk, it couldn’t half tell a tale

With some of the things it’d seen

 

But this was the first time he’d actually worn it

If truth-be-known, the coat didn’t fit

Though our Dad was by no means a short-arse

It dragged on the floor… just a bit

 

Safety equipment, be buggered

When our Dad went about this brave deed

That greatcoat, his flat-cap and glasses

Was all the protection he’d need

 

Loosey Lefty, Righty Tighty

It should have been just a formality

To loosen the lids, to let out some gas

And restore a bit of normality

 

The next boom we heard covered our Dad in foam

As it nigh-on took his head off

Was that him, who emerged from the passage?

Or was it a man made of froth?

 

He looked like a walking wave of spume

Covered… from head to toe

And then he took his glasses off

Two rissoles in the snow

 

“That’s it” he said “Fetch me mi hammer”

“I’m gunna haveta destroy t’bloody lot”

It broke our Dad’s heart, to smash his own bottles

But what other choice had he got?

 

 

Four hundred pints, wrecked by his own hand

He couldn’t believe what he’d done

It wasn’t the first time he’d Battled the Booze

But this was sadly…… the first time that he’d won