Londoners Magazine

This week I was filmed for a documentary. My five minutes of fame (well, actually I was in Songs of Praise twice) was about a drunk regular at my pub.

His name is Angus. He is seventysomething, although he looks about 90, and the alcohol must have pickled him because I am sure that he rarely eats or does anything apart from drink all day. Each day, he comes into my pub and orders half a pint of Carlsberg and a Jack Daniels and lemonade. At the same time. The reason for the half pint is because he can’t lift any larger glass to his mouth.

Angus has been barred from every pub in the East End, yet we serve him every day. I work in a fairly up-market pub, but we have a place in our hearts for Angus; so long as he is gone by 5pm so that no one can see him. We can kick him out before 5pm if he is particularly rowdy, roaring insults in his Glaswegian indecipherable Scots, molesting ladies or singing Louis Armstrong. If he gets too drunk, a male member of staff will escort him home to his flat.

Why do we serve Angus? He is a vile and depressing character. He wears an RAF cap every day with a poppy attached, although he only ever trained to be in the RAF, he never served. The ornate wooden façade to the bar I work in was crafted by his workmanship decades ago. This only makes his story sadder.

He has a loveable side I suppose. Those of us who know him suffer his adorations on a daily basis. Lend him your hand and he will lick it, show a bit of flesh and he will meow, show him your cheek and he will try to stuff his tongue down your throat. For those who are not quite so familiar with his tones, he is a cute old man.

We recently held a “snail dating” night, which is similar to speed dating, and we reluctantly allowed Angus to attend. Sure enough, he turns up promptly, with a smart Ralph Lauren jumper and his cap, and sets up a tab “in case the lady wants a drink”, although he knows that he is only allowed one drink. And while reluctant women avoid some men on the night, Angus gets every single woman in the pub spending the full 10 minutes with him. Maybe they didn’t notice, but before they sit down, Angus would lower his reading glasses, look them up and down, and make careful notes throughout (one of his comments on a dater was “not interested in having children”).

So I can see why a documentary was made about Angus. He is a true character of the East End, and is known throughout the area. The only problem was that I was asked to tell tales of his love of women - of which I think that he was once a catch in his youth and still thinks he is – and of his daily drinking and curfew. But I think there is more to him if we can get it out of him. He must have grown up around a changing east London, been a child in London during the war, and seen his children move to South Africa leaving him behind, only to drink himself to death in the local pub.

His story needs to be told before it’s too late.