Rambling On: An Apprentice’s Guide to the Gift of the Gab

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WHENEVER I PASS Keeper’s Lodge, a restaurant in the forest, I always see, lying there on the apron, the patio outside the entrance, where in summertime patrons sit at red tables and on red chairs, a huge, wise St Bernard dog, and the patrons either stepping over it, or, if they’ve ever been bitten by a dog, preferring to look away and walk round it, their peace of mind restored only after they’ve sat down inside the restaurant, but if the St Bernard were to be lying inside the restaurant, these timorous patrons would rather sit outside on the red chairs, even on a cold day. No St Bernard ever did lie here, and probably never will, but my St Bernard will lie there for as long as I live, and so the St Bernard and I, outside the Keeper’s Lodge restaurant in the forest, we two are coupled wheelsets… It was way back when my brother got married and had a haulage business, driving his truck and taking things wherever anyone needed, but the time came when a private individual wasn’t allowed to drive on his own account any more, and so my brother, his private company having been shut down, was out of a job. And because he was jealous, so madly jealous that his wife wasn’t allowed to have a job lest anyone else look at her, he suddenly got this weird idea that my sister-in-law’s gorgeous figure couldn’t be exploited anywhere better than in catering. And if catering, then it had to be the Keeper’s Lodge forest restaurant. And if the Keeper’s Lodge, then the place should be made into a real pub for lorry-drivers and foresters, locals and summer visitors. About that time, the manager’s job at the Keeper’s Lodge fell vacant and my brother did his utmost to make the restaurant his.

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