BITE user comments - salvador
Comments by salvador
Blimey! The Mont is haunted - it's official. No, I'm not making Beano-type jokes about spirits - the pub has been registered with the British Paranormal Society as being the habitat of "at least one unearthly body". Fact.
Regulars have for a long time been aware of strange changes in temperature and have heard strange grunting noises coming from the stationery cupboard situated near the gentleman's excuse me.
They have been contacted (not via a medium but on the phone) by Virgin T.V.'s own Ghostbusters Yvette Fielding (who was the youngest person ever to present Blue Peter - yes, the one with the dodgy accent and custard coloured hair) and former professional footballer Derek Acorah (I know he sounds and carries on like a bit of a mincer but he used to play footie for Liverpool, under Bill Shankley if you know what I mean. And while we're on about it, what's with that earring - the only bloke I know, of a certain age, that looks cool with an earring is Alfie, and that's because he looks like a pirate). They have asked if they can film a special episode of their spooky old show in our very own Mont - how cool is that. Also some beardy scholars from the University of Los Angeles want to come in and set up some equipment which tests for mysterious entitities - no shortage of them in our dear old grot-box. Ta-ta for now.
6 Sep 2008 13:51
Hello. I thought it was time a gave you an update on the Sticky Mont... I have to admit the old girl has got a bit cleaner - this is down to Georgia the new Mrs. Mopp (and she really is Mrs. Mopp cos her husband is Moppy).
However, a great big lump of masonary fell off the back wall a few months ago, narrowly missing Alfie who was out there rolling a fag. It brought back memories of New Year's Eve 2005 when half the ceiling in the bar fell on us and in our beer.
Then one of the canopies fell off the front window onto a parked car; the canopy is now recouperating in the beer "garden" along with an old toilet - choice!
The good Lord has called time on a couple of the old regulars, but they have been replaced with would-be bullsh**-meisters off our very long waiting list.
We seem to be getting more than our fair share of nutters - there's a pub on every corner around the Mont but these numbnuts seem to gravitate to our little haven in their droves - why?
Also, of late, there appears to be someone with a severe bowel condition which requires serious, urgent medical attention - last Sunday the gentlemen's-excuse-me looked as though someone had filled it to the brim with oxtail soup and then thrown melted chocolate and Marmite at it - I have photographic evidence if required.
So pretty much of a muchness - y'all come back now!
22 May 2008 13:33
This is a glorious khazi of a pub. It is a gentleman's refuge from the up it's own a**e world which is edging ever closer to our dear old Mont.
The decor can only be described as "sticky"; the bar is sticky, the tables are sticky, the door handles are sticky ... (you get the idea "sticky").
The locals are a mixed bunch of weather-beaten Stella and Guiness drinkers who revel in the mire of a pub they have chosen to call 'home'. They are friendly, but if you wish to mingle in and join the undead you must be fluent in talking sh**t. The landlady is an enthusiastic bundle of energy who's voice could out-decibel a 747.
P.s. The landlord with the shorts has gravitated down the grimy hill to The Albion.
14 Jun 2007 10:15
The Montreal Arms, Brighton
Well bugger me drunk, as we say at the old Mont, if Mr McGreggor isn't right - the old girl is spick and span and gleaming like the camel toe of a virgin maid! All that remains to be done is for the old shag pile to get its face washed and I understand from "The Management" that this is pending.
The process should prove to be something of a spectacle, not unlike Howard Carter's first venture into the tomb of Tutanhamun - all sorts of treasures are bound to be unearthed. Many of my personal posessions have fallen foul to the abyss that is the Montreal carpet - a jacket accidentally knocked from a coatpeg plummeted to the floor, disappeared in a black frothing spume and was transported to the Davy Jones' locker of the pub underlay, never to be seen again.
Local actor Bob (no surname is available) or "one-liner Bob" as he is more commonly known on account of him having had one line in the BBC's first class and sadly missed Sunday Evening soap "Howard's Way" has not been in for his customary dozen house whiskeys for some time. Has he moved on to The Walmer or some other watering hole? Maybe, but I think not. I have another theory. It goes like this. It's a quiet evening in The Mont. Bob shuffles in on his scabby pins and clambers up onto his stool and orders his two fingers of "Glen Campbell" or whatever it's called. The barmaid is distracted by one of the many nutters who pass through. AND THEN IT HAPPENS! Bob's flip-flop falls to the floor. Before he realises that retrieval is impossible, Bob dips an exploratory toe into the whirling black trifle that is the carpet. His flimsy flaky frame is quickly taken by a rip-tide that drags him from the safety of the shallows by the bar and he is sucked down to the grimy depths over by the dart board.
Did this really happen? Who knows. But I for one will not be surprised if Bob's flip-flops are revealed as the grime of time is removed, layer by layer.
9 Sep 2008 16:44