Scrumpy.

“’Allo Zur, be ee a stranger in theze parts?” A cheerful looking, rotund man greeted me as I entered the public bar of the Neutered Goose, a small, friendly public house near the center of Wells in Somerset.

“I suppose I am,” I replied, “I’ve been here less than a week.”

“Would ee jine me in a drink Zur?” he offered, “Jill, lass, pour the man a glass of scrumpy.”

O.K. Jarge.” Jill replied and pulled the handle to pour the strong cider from a cask. Her accent was as thick as George’s. I noticed she wore a lot of makeup and needed to exercise as she was overweight. Not the most attractive barmaid, I decided. I had visited this pub once, on the day I arrived when I stopped for a single malt with my granddaughter, Marion. There had been a barman on that day and no George.

My wife and I were visiting Marion who was helping to organize a music festival in nearby Glastonbury. She and my wife were out shopping and, to restrict the time they spent in that activity, I had cheerfully told them I’d stop off and sample the local brew. Knowing my wife’s attitude to leaving me on my own in a pub I was sure they would arrive to pick me up very shortly. That ploy of mine works every time.

“Yoom ever troid scrumpy afore?” my benefactor asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, I have. When I lived in England I always enjoyed a small tipple.” I hoisted my glass in salute, “Cheers, George! Thanks for the drink.”

We touched glasses and I tried the amber liquid which turned out to be dry and surprisingly pleasant.

I put down my glass and held my hand out to George, “Name’s Tom,” I said, “I’m originally from London and I now live in Canada.”

“Oh, aah!” George and I shook hands and I felt his strong grip. I surmised that he had worked on a farm a...

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... Zur, afore we gits too thoisty.” What was wrong with me? I don’t speak like that.

I kept gazing at the attractive barmaid and then felt a sharp pain in my kidney. My wife’s elbow had roused me from my obvious interest. Suddenly the barmaid dissolved back into the original Jill.

“I can’t leave you alone for one minute, can I?” my wife’s baleful look chastened me, “Come on, we’re going.”

I wondered why I was staring up into her eyes as my wife is quite short, then I realized I had sunk to my knees. My legs refused to hold me upright.

I managed to leave the pub, supported on either side by my wife and Marion who was smiling at my condition.

As we passed through the doors, two well-dressed men entered the bar. By their talk they were from the United States and no sooner had they passed when I heard George’s voice ask, “’Allo Zurz, be ee strangers in theze parts?”