Aye Robot

"Av come in ere fr a parnt er Bansly bitter...

Aye

Aye

Aye...

Wiv me dog Gloria, aye, aye....

Aye...."

As with all writings on pub characters, I am significantly enough concerned to confirm that sine I thought of the pun in the title, I haven't seen this man, or indeed his hound, in about three months. Just like I have not seen 60s Clive, or whatever moniker I attributed to him, after my write up of his bizarre hobby of dragging his semi conscious incontinent Mother out with him, ironically, also to drink Barnsley Bitter (and then three pints of cider in half an hour), before his Mother lost interest/the will to live/control of her bowels. Am not suggesting for one moment that there is a link between my musings, strange folk, and Stancil Barnsley Bitter, am simply making an observation...

I have spotted the AR a number of times over a period of many years. I usually spot him in the Gardeners Rest, but have also encountered him in the Kelham Island Tavern and Shakespeares. He has a simultaneously intense yet distracted face, is plainly dressed, and always sups his favoured brown liquid with his dog in tow. I have never paid much attention to the hound but am fairly sure its the same one I have been seeing him with since day one, so it must be getting on a bit. He, meanwhile, is ageless. Which given how tiresome and frustrating his Aye symphony can become, is perhaps ironic.

Last year myself and friend Owen encountered him in Shakespeares. So amusing and yet maudlin was his repetition that we chose to sit outside in the cold to avoid him. However, unlike the troubling drunk with the shitting woman, he is, in fact, entirely harmless. I also heard rumours, and just that, suggesting that he lost his wife to a car accident many years ago, and has never got over it. If that is the case then I feel this once more demonstrates the succourable qualities embedded in the pub environment, although, that in itself is a subject for another post methinks...

To wear my psychological cap for a moment, I do think that the chap suffers from an affliction - mental or social - which inescapably defines the manner in which he espouses not so much this thoughts, but a carefully preplanned, perhaps oft rehearsed,  sonnet of simple phrases. This of course, could be triggered by a deep loss. But as I have probably pointed out previously, I am not a psychiatrist or psychologist.....

One of the things I find odd about this affliction is that having found no response to or started a conversation with his two phrases, and possibly having given up his every ten second repetition of the word "aye" the bloke will often, without warning, let out a long and entirely singular aye, almost to remind us that he is still there. Often, when people glance over in surprise, this prompts a question to a usually younger or more nervous looking member of the pub's throng of drinkers, although this unfortunately does nothing to lessen their already palpable shyness, and the aye symphony restarts once again like a forward wound tape reel. If dogs weren't allowed in the pubs I drink in I imagine he would not be in, so it is therefore also notable that the existence of another dog is the final strand at which he swipes, in order to have a more personal symphony of communicative dysfunctionality with.

He does not stick around more than a couple of hours, usually finding that repeating his phrases and the word aye about twenty times is doing nothing to ameliorate his situation, nor to address his perhaps significant needs. He also never says goodbye - even though he already says the second half of it. And have never seen him catch a bus. If you like me are an observer, you will have seen him, am sure...

And heard the word aye.

Aye

Aye....

With regards

Beefolot.