Mate-less

I’ve managed to acquire all the creature comforts I could want in my new house but something major is still missing from my life here: mates.

I need to make some new friends. Everyone I meet in town is friendly but none of them are really my friends.

Spending the last few weeks cooped up with the NPR has given me a sense of urgency in finding someone my own age to hang out with. I guess countlessly shouting “put on a damned pair of socks, do you want to die of pneumonia!?” has begun to wear me out and make me long for a companion I don’t have to mother all the time.

Last night I had the bright idea of going to the local pub known as “The Famous Grouse.” (How the grouse became famous is unknown, but most people go in for the drinks, not the history.)

When the NPR and I first arrived in town, we didn’t have beds in the new house so we rented a room at the Grouse. It was the NPR’s birthday so I bought her a slice of cake from the restaurant and, because she couldn’t find and candles, the proprietress stuck a little paper umbrella in the cake. When I went to the bar last night she made my day by saying, “Hello, Kelly!”

It’s nice to be remembered by name.

A young blond who looked no older than 16 asked what I was drinking. I told her I wanted a “Jack and Coke” and was a little confused when she brought me a small pitcher of coke and an empty glass. A few sips of the stuff made it clear that there was no alcohol involved. I didn’t want to hurt any feelings so I just took a seat on a sofa by the fire place and made several furtive glances around the pub.

In one corner was a table of older men in woolly sweaters. One of them was wearing his ‘winter shorts.’ At another were two middle aged men drinking beer and dropping the f-bomb a lot. At one of the other tables, a well-dressed man sat alone sipping his beer and playing with his cell phone. I didn’t have any portable electronic devices to give me the air of casual indifference so I went over to a table in the lobby and picked up a copy of the horse magazine called, “New Zealand Studs.”

I now know more than I could ever want about stallion bloodlines and frozen sperm.

After about two-and-a-half glasses of syrupy sweetness I decided to go in for some wine. “I need something with a little alcohol in it,” I told the lady at the bar.

“We’re not allowed to serve spirits in jugs,” she said.

“Ah, yes, well I think there was some confusion,” I said. “I asked for a ‘Jack and Coke’ and I think all I got was the coke. I’d like to try some wine now, I think.”

I saw the male bartender grin to himself as the lady told the girl who had served me of her mistake.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl said. “I thought you said ‘a jug of coke.’”

“That’s alright,” I said. “I did kind of wonder at getting that much Jack and Coke for only $6.50.”

I got the house Merlot from the second bartender who asked how my daughter had enjoyed her birthday.

It’s so nice to be remembered.

I went back to my quiet corner and resumed a half-hearted perusal of “New Zealand Studs.” (If the studs in question had been of the Homo sapiens variety, I would have been far more engaged.)

Not long after this, my PhD supervisor came through with her family and said hello. I felt rather sheepish at being discovered all alone next to a half-drunk jug of coke and partially hidden behind a horse breeding magazine, but she didn’t seem to notice.

I downed the rest of the Merlot in a rush and exited the bar without any new mates to speak of.

Tonight I’m going to the pub in Prebbelton as it is slightly larger than the Grouse and boasts a live DJ.

I’ll be going solo tonight without the aid of “New Zealand Studs” so wish me luck.