You'll like this one.
Back in the day, I was working away, down in Leamington Spa.
We were building a 'Texas' DIY industrial unit. Think they were the precursor to B&Q.
I was a site engineer then, and was lodging in a local pub, that Arthur (the site manager) had organised.
The firm paid for B&B and evening meal, and Arthur had done a deal with the landlord where we got 3 pints each per night, included in the rate.
Anyway, it was way before H&S laws got real serious, and one of the workers on the site, was bringing his new Jack Russell puppy to work.
He'd just tie it up outside the canteen, with a bowl of water.
So, Arthur took a liking to 'Rusty', and each day, would take him for 'walkies' around the site.
On a Thursday night, Arthur, me and a few of the lads, would 'go for it' as we only worked until 2pm on a Friday, before the crawl up the M6 back to Manchester.
This particular Thursday, Arthur got smashed, beers, shots, nightclub, kebab house, the lot.
Next day, he doesn't make parade.
He missed breakfast, but eventually turns up at the site looking an unhealthy green.
The pup, 'Rusty' is delighted to see him, jumping and lepping about, wagging his tail.
One of the guys makes Arthur a coffee and gives him a sandwich, which he struggles to eat, but gets it down.
5 minutes later, he jumps up and runs out of the cabin.
He returns, wiping his mouth, feeling sorry for himself, telling me he's just been sick.
I go to make him another coffee, when I spot something out the window.
''Arthur'', I say, ''Is that your vomit the doggy's eating up?''
Well that was it, he was out of there in a flash, spew coming out between the fingers of his hand.
''You lock up, see you Monday'', he whispers as he heads for the car.
5 minutes later I'd thrown everyone off the site, locked up and was following him up the road.
Home for 12.
Happy days.
Cheers Rusty!
