Christmas was not a happy time at The George for Reg.
In the last week of November Cathy the barmaid had hung up the Christmas decorations. Reg, being Reg, threatened to tear them down. In the end, he only removed the tinsel that hung over his seat in the corner. He also removed the mistletoe that mysteriously appeared there soon after.
If nothing else, Christmas made Reg punctual. At noon each day he would be waiting as the doors were unbolted, primed to secure his seat. He would not risk losing it to an unsuspecting gentleman wearing a paper crown.
By mid-December, Reg was plagued by the parties of revellers patronising The George. At any one time there was guaranteed to be someone acting festive.
On one occasion a group broke out a rendition of ‘Deck The Halls’.
“Tis the season for bloody amateur drinkers, more like,” grumbled Reg, to no one in particular. “Bring on January, when they’ll all have gone back to their gyms and widescreen televisions, and us proper drinkers can get some peace.”
Reg drained his pint of Best, got up from his seat, and left the pub, letting in some snow on his way out.
A gentleman wearing a paper crown immediately slumped in Reg’s seat. “Tis the season to be jolly,” he sang, raising his pint of lager, to no one in particular.