Fondly Dave

 Afternoon readers,

  for those of you who don't pay that much attention to my blog - like - well, me, this is description number 5 in my now 4 or 5 years old "Pub fruit loops" series.

For info, we have so far had:

Man in his 60s taking his incontinent Mother out in her pygamas to have a series of ickypo air raids whilst he slags off all beer and beer drinkers (whilst doing exactly that);

Racist dog man - the chuntering Banslih bittoh drinking racist who blamed all his behavioural failings on his presumably oft replaced dog;

The erstwhile saliva spluttering Badge Hat Andrew, AKA the sadly now passed away Andrew Smith (see "Alan Chimpanzee");

And lastly, the "i'm a silent partner, don't you know" bloke, the nutcase who infuriated and creeped out both customers and staff in the Rutty in about 2019.

Number 5 - Fondly Dave - goodness - where do I start?

For info, lets make clear that this isn't to be confused with Maudlin Dave, a white haired chap whom have known for many years and sounds like Alan Bennet. I do know his real name, but it seems inappropriate to share.......

My brotaar WK, met Fondly Dave in Shakespeares one night when he had been on call for a week and was having his first beer in 8 days. Spotting us, FD joined us and within just 5 minutes he was spouting his usual nonsense about the fact that the Royal family all had lizard heads covered in paper and that all royalists were genetically matched to lizards from space. I hope you all know that am no royalist, but thats where my interest stops - Dave was like a non funny Chris Morris in Cake, and an ever so slightly more mad and even more stupid, David Ike. My brother quickly told him to stop spouting absolute nonsense and to go away, which he did.

The next time I met FD he strangely seemed to have forgotten how annoying he was, but I did kindly say hello to him before going to sit in the Clock room at Shakespeares. At this point this was the only pub that I went in that he wasn't barred from. And here's the reason why:

When FD spotted a lady, and seemingly only ever a single possibly stressed or refreshed lady, he would saunter over and say along the lines of "Hi, I can see your obviously distressed, just to let you now that I am a registered Reiki healer, would you like me to try and heal you?" The obvious response would be no, get away from me you dishonest weirdo but FD was very persistent, and usually, agreement or not, proceeded to put his hands on them to "release the bad energies".

Usually, and likely because of where he put his hands, most recipients would say no, or take your hands off me, but if bar staff didn't notice and the first victim left, he would then try it on again with the next available female. By now harassed and criticised by people who had seen what was going on, he would then be barred (often again) and removed from the premises. This is why I thought that at one stage he was barred from every pub in Sheffield, and have only ever seen him once more, where he claimed he didn't do that sort of thing anymore.

Only he did.

Which is probably why I haven't seen him in about 3 years.

With kind regards - and a happy new year

Wee Beefy

Badges

Hello,

   am guessing that many Sheffield readers will know straight away what this post, or rather whom this post, is about. To those not in the know, Badges Andrew is the subject - known by many other names am sure, and according to Beer Matters, as Andrew Smith. I never knew Andrew's surname whilst he was alive. That is the same for many of the people I know and drink with in Sheffield pubs. Andrew passed away in October this year. Here are some thoughts on his drinking life.

I use that phrase by the way because I didn't know Andrew outside of pubs. That, as above, is something that applies still to many people I see in boozers regularly. One of the benefits, if you look at it so, of social media, is that you can often find out lots about people you meet in pubs by exchanging online details. I realise this is also potentially a bad thing. I met Andrew in 1994. It was ten years before I owned  a computer.

Due to my woeful UJR* I don't know what condition Andrew had. I spoke to someone recently who said he didn't speak to him because he thought he was a freak. I was quite shocked, since to me it was obvious that Andrew had some kind of illness or condition which determined the way that he acted in social situations. There was no malice in the chap. He was a jolly, unendingly enthusiastic, probably overly verbose and loud gent who loved his cask beer. He may well have had a behavioural condition, but one thing I would say is that this never stopped him coming out to drink. Sometimes too much. Sometimes too often. These are not characteristics I would criticise in anyone, for obvious reasons.

Andrew's passing is one where the term rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated is actually accurate. About five years ago he disappeared from the pub scene altogether and there were suggestions he had passed away. And then I saw him in the Bath Hotel, addressing the bar staff, as he always had done, as if they were about 30 feet away. It was impossible to miss Andrew. For a start you may have remembered him from working shifts at Sheffield Beer Festival for many years. And even if you went deaf you would always recognise his hat, weighed down and bedecked in number by badges. Unfortunately I never got to find out what the badges said since, alas, Andrew suffered from spouty mouth, a term I have invented. Lets just say it was advisable to cover one's drink with a beer mat whilst conversing with Andrew, lest one wanted a top up, consisting almost entirely of saliva.

I once met up with Sean in the Cask and Cutler and mentioned I was going to Chesterfield the next day with my other half. He had asked if I was going to Keighley beer festival. It seemed Andrew was also, as he loudly advised. As we were about to leave the Derby Tup the next afternoon I heard Andrew's distinctive voice. He was a trifle refreshed. I said hello to him on our way out and headed with my partner to the Red Lion on Whittington Moor. Or whatever the Old  Mill pub was called. As we were also a trifle refreshed we decided that Andrew was a bit too much for us and were therefore seeking  refuge there. I even jokingly said to the barman, that if he came in, could me and our lass hide behind the bar. Five minutes later he did, and so did we. He spotted us. He didn't think to ask why we were crouching behind the bar. He just told us, in great detail and with some volume, about the beers he had tried at the festival and the Tup. All of which had been very nice, really.

The final thing I want to share is from way back in 1994. Me and Helen and Ieuan and others were in the beer garden of the Fat Cat, along with Alan Gibbons. Andrew walked in and started telling Helen in great detail about something that had happened earlier that day (which would no doubt have been really really good,  or very nice actually) and then spotted Alan. And then, this happened....

Andrew: "Ooooh" Alan! Its funny you being called Alan Gibbons.....
Alan: silence
Andrew: "cuz you could have been called Alan Baboon!"
Alan: silence
Andrew: "Alan Chimpanzeeee!"
Alan: silence
Andrew: "Alan orangutan!"

I would like to think that Andrew's notable attention to detail meant he would have listed many other types of apes or simian creatures but I can't be sure. I do know that whilst we pissed ourselves laughing, Alan did not find this in the slightest bit amusing. Never before have I heard someone so enthused about monkeys, nor seen someone so stern faced in the receipt of such unbridled enthusiasm.

Back to reality, and I don't know how Andrew died, but am sad to see his passing. I have only been drinking for 26 years but have already lost many friend and acquaintances from the world of pubs which I started frequenting in 1993.

If you are out tonight, please raise a glass in tribute to Andrew. And do mention the simian possibilities of his surname to Alan Gibbons.....

Cheers

Wee Beefy

*Usual Journalistic Rigour