SOHO STORIES

Paul the barman and I were standing outside the Coach and Horses, or the Coach as everyone called it. What we were doing there, standing around is anyone's guess. I think I might have had a bucket and mop in my hands having been told or probably ordered, to clean up the glass street tiles and sides of the pub of all the incontinence, excretions and other forms of insubordination from the night before. Paul was talking about going back to Dublin and opening up a hairdresser's, I continued mopping in a way that can only be described as fitful. Jeffrey Bernard appeared, stood next to us and when we asked if he was alright he replied if we wouldn't mind giving him a hand getting into the pub as he was feeling a bit liverish. Of course we helped and tried to get him settled inside and if I recall correctly it was the same day an American tourist was sitting chatting with a friend and Norman told her to 'get off that stool that's Jeff's'. She looked around but didn't look at him and asked 'who are you?', and he said 'I'm the landlord, and you're sitting in Jeff's seat'. She scoffed and made the mistake of saying, 'hah, if you're the landlord I'm the mayor'. 'I don't care what type of horse you are madam', he bellowed, 'now fuckin' get out, you're barred!'.