BATTERED

Last Thursday I got roped into an all-day bender with the J Man. Like Pinocchio on his first day of attending school, I started out the morning with the best of intentions with both mind and body fully set on going to the gym. But before I reached my fitness destination I heard a 'hollering and a wailing' that resounded around the streets of the town like an old sea captain.

"Maxie! Get over here lad!"

Next thing I know I've been instructed to sit down outside a bar and wait for a pint. It was just after midday and I knew the J Man was only just getting started. Sinking pints like Admiral Ludwig von Reuter sank his own fleet of battleships off Orkney, we were soon awash with boozy banter and a soundtrack provided by a relentless street saxophonist who would play any tune we asked for a small donation. Playing my request of Phil Collins 'One More Night', the arse end of town seemed to come alive as bedraggled looking types started dancing as if from a deleted scene of Terry Gilliam's 'The Fisher King'.

Whilst I found the hours of the day magically disappearing quicker with each newly arrived pint, I watched on as various 'characters' came to pay their respects to the J Man as if he was half pope/half mafia don. One young man emotionally claimed the J Man had saved him from a life of ruination and bought several drinks for us as way of thanks. Being the beneficiary of the J Man's accumulated respect, it was hard not to be impressed with the casual way he deflected any praise and turned it back onto those he'd 'saved'. The J Man doesn't need praise from others so much as he prefers to lavish it on others. Comfortable in his own skin, the J Man clearly has nothing to prove other than to enjoy life where he can when he's not working on building sites and looking after his family for whom he is a great protector.

Becoming increasingly inebriated as the late August sunshine blazed down on my face, I was prompted to remember past times going on Falstaffian benders with the J Man when spending time with him would often loosen my younger, self absorbed, perspective on life. Was I now playing the part of Prince Hal returned to the Boarshead Inn for one last round of drinks before becoming the fully fledged sovereign of my own self? Not if the J Man has anything to do with it. Like an ancient wordless bond there will never be any escaping the call to arms raising pints as long as the J Man, the 'Johnny Rooster' of Stroud spies you within his orbit.

And (out of respect) I'll drink to that!

monarch of my own sovereign individuality.