Thursday, May 27, 2010
Julie's Dirty Little Secret
Our flat is located 3 doors down from The Dornoch Inn, one of several pubs in Dornoch. I think every town has it's Dornoch Inn. San Juan Capistrano has the Swallows, San Clemente has Big Helens, Arcata has the Logger. The list goes on. The pub or bar you know is there, but probably would not take a date to. You may slip in for an afternoon pint, but not something you would do on a regular basis. You would also keep both eyes open and a hand on your wallet if you went in anytime after 9:00 p.m. The kind of place you are careful where you sit so as not to take a regulars seat out of fear of a scowl, a snarl or a shiv. The regulars at the Dornoch Inn, (mind you this information comes from uh, um, friends. Yeah that's right friends) would form the cast of characters of a sitcom or movie like Cheers. No, not Cheers, maybe like Pulp Fiction. No, not Pulp Fiction, maybe like Trainspotting. You get the idea. There's Kenny the painter, who has been working since we got here. His ladder is set up daily and he sometimes can be seen dragging a brush about, but more often than not is sitting at the bar with a beer. I think he is paid in pints. Or Jock the bus driver who holds court on the politics of the day, "Bloody Tories, country is going to hell now." Or Jimmy the ?. I don't know what Jimmy does. Frankly Jimmy used to scare me, tough looking bloke, someone you wouldn't want to cross. Until the day we rode the bus with him to the market and saw him, out of the blue, help some elderly lady across the square with her groceries. Since then we always say hi and he always has a good "Hi Ya" in return.
The Dornoch Inn is the kind of place that on a recent Saturday night when I went in, for research purposes only mind you, the pool table was very busy, the dart board had been taken down, I think it was something about sharp projectiles and alcohol. The bar was filled with regulars and the dining room/bingo room dance floor was a jumping. The karaoke machine was humming and the crooners of the night were belting out their greatest hits while standing on the tables and chuggin pints like the bar was running out of lager. And these were the women!
As a side note Darin, my son, Tim Pierce, a friend, and I were asked to leave the Dornoch Inn once. I think it was something about the sun coming up.
But I digress, this was Julie's dirty little secret...
We had been warned about the noise, particularly on Saturday nights. But we really had not noticed much noise at all. Occasionally some last call revelry, but nothing to write home about or call the police about. We have actually been sleeping with the window open at night. It was on such a Saturday night that we received a buzz on the intercom. I got up with a start. What is it? A stabbing, a lovers quarrel or maybe a cat fight :<)? A voice on the intercom, slightly slurred, not shaken, "Would you mind closing your window, we can't hear the bass on the karoke machine because of the bloody racket up there." That's right, little Julie snores like a sailor. The closest description I can come up with is a jet engine warming up on the inhale and a jack hammer on the exhale. Like the old cartoon character VaVoom, the little baby who would blow holes through the sides of mountains with his voice. Ah yes, little Julie.
When you come to visit I will give a guided tour of the Dornoch Inn and forewarned is forearmed. If you come to visit, bring ear plugs.