A man stands outside a rather dull cocktail bar in Stevenson Square, Manchester. He looks like the sort of man who’s spent half the day watching Leeds United fail to defend, and the other half drinking Tetley bitter and £7 Caprinhas.
He’s not alone. With him is a put upon woman, staring into the middle distance and nodding at random, as the man gibbers inanely about how “just because [her] friend is writing a novel, that doesn’t mean he’s not the best writer in the bar, damn it.”
Crouched behind them, the barman scribbles on a board with a piece of chalk.
We strive to deliver the fastest service in town. No matter how long it takes.
Our hero turns, regards the board with a critical eye.
“You’ve done that wrong.”
“Drop the ‘strive to’, just say ‘we deliver’.”
“I’ve written it now though mate.”
“Yeah, but you’ve written it wrong. Pass me the chalk.”
The woman tugs insistently at the man’s sleeve, as the barman looks hopefully towards a smirking bouncer. Our frazzled writer is dragged inside. Drinking recommences.
Ten minutes later, he’s back outside with a piece of tissue. He stoops down, rubs out two words and stumbles out into the night.
We deliver the fastest service in town. No matter how long it takes.
I think when you’re amending signs outside pubs, you could probably do with a break.
I’ll be doing a piece on the Royal Wedding and wedding copy cliches on Monday, but after that I’ll be taking a short break to try and lose some of the crazy.
Enjoy the Easter bank holidays!