Bob Hawkins nudged his empty pint glass across the beaten copper of the barroom table. Opposite him sat Jim \u201cKipper\u201d Jones, whose weather-beaten face was an object lesson in why digging roads through West Wales winters was no career for an aspiring film star, especially not after thirty years. Bob was no picture himself, either. His lived-in face topped a scrawny frame wrapped in a Gannex mac two sizes too big, fished from the back rail of an Oxfam shop fifteen years earlier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Bob, however, looked much younger than Jim. Though they\u2019d been friends since school, he\u2019d taken a different path, scraping together just enough GCSEs to land an office job at the local labour exchange thirty-five years earlier. It was Bob who got Jim his first and only job, patching potholes for the council. Once settled into the steady rhythm of Civil Service life, he never moved on either. After two early, unsuccessful applications for promotion, Bob chose the next best option: to dig in. In his own way, he was a digger, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour round, I believe, Kipper.\u201d Bob\u2019s right eye flickered, betraying his thinning patience at Jim\u2019s wallet reticence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll just finish my jar,\u201d Jim responded. He tapped the side of his glass, still holding an inch of beer, but didn\u2019t pick it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat pint has greater longevity than my nan,\u201d Bob observed. \u201cAnd she passed on at the grand old age of ninety-six.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI like to savour my beer,\u201d Jim replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIs this savouring intermittent?\u201d Bob placed an elbow on the table, cupping his chin with his hand. \u201cBecause I seem to recall that when I\u2019m buying, your throat magically transforms into a drain with no sides.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jim rolled his eyes. \u201cThine sword doth pierce mine heart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell, hopefully it sliced through the hawser mooring your purse to your jacket, liberating it to perform its intrinsic duty of purchasing a couple of pints of Burton\u2019s best.\u201d Bob liked to display his command of English. It gratified his vanity to believe he was somehow superior to his friend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two pints later, Jim stretched his arms. \u201cI\u2019m beat. Better get home to the missus. She\u2019ll be throwing a fit at me being out all hours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not nine o\u2019clock yet, Kipper,\u201d Bob protested. \u201cStay for another. I\u2019m buying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can\u2019t, Bob. It\u2019s Friday night.\u201d Jim shook his head. \u201cAlice will be back from bingo in half an hour. We always have an early night on Fridays. If you know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bob knew exactly what he meant, though not from personal experience: he had never married. He\u2019d come close once, but said something clever at the wrong moment. Now he was used to sliding his key into a cold lock and being greeted by silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As Kipper disappeared through the door, Bob ordered another pint. The last thing he wanted was to return to his empty flat and sit watching the psychopaths on the nine o\u2019clock news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Still, at least he could turn an elegant phrase.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Bob Hawkins nudged his empty pint glass across the beaten copper of the barroom table. Opposite him sat Jim \u201cKipper\u201d Jones, whose weather-beaten face was an object lesson in why digging roads through West Wales winters was no career for an aspiring film star, especially not after thirty years. Bob was no picture himself, either. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1792,1853],"tags":[1858,567,17,8,20,666,1859,12,148,1857,765,1854,11,135,72],"class_list":["post-2676","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1792","category-april-2026-vanity","tag-beaten","tag-bob","tag-glass","tag-he","tag-his","tag-jim","tag-kipper","tag-my","tag-no","tag-pint","tag-table","tag-vanity","tag-was","tag-years","tag-your"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-Ha","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2676","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2676"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2676\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2677,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2676\/revisions\/2677"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2676"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2676"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2676"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}