In 2011, the first year of the literary award, the level of entrants was so high that two runner-up prizes were awarded to:
'Strings' by Bob Hawkins and 'Memories' by Janet Hudson .
Janet and Bob each received £50 prize money.
And here is the entry “Strings”
I’m sure you’ve seen the ads in the personal columns of the free papers, and the internet’s awash with them: -
‘Adventurous slim woman, naughty forties, looking for a man for discrete, no- strings, adult fun. Age, looks, unimportant’ Followed by a box number.
I’d been looking at those ads for some years, sometimes through eyes brimming with guilty tears, and I’m ashamed to say that I decided to answer one. It was either that or risk my life on Forest Road. I’d describe myself as a normal, middle-aged man with normal tastes and needs, but I’d been celibate for what felt like so long that it hurt.
Last Tuesday had been three years to the day since I lost my Penny: - wife, soul-mate, best friend and lover. She was kind and beautiful and her sudden death blew my world completely off its axis, so I felt I was still in no fit state to look for another relationship. But I did need sex.
As anxious and excited as a teenager, I tried to tell myself that it was just a laugh. No strings. That was how I met Hannah.
We exchanged photos and I’m glad to say that she was attractive but totally different to Penny; we chatted over the net and then over the phone. She seemed pleasant and down to earth; her voice carried the trace of a posh accent, which I found a turn-on. We made each other laugh, always a good sign, so we arranged to meet...
I’m not even sure which of us suggested it, but we set up the date as the26th and the Forest Tavern, Mansfield road, as the venue; a quick drink before going back to my place.
When the day finally arrived I was in a lather of lust and performance anxiety, I couldn’t remember being as nervous as this even before I lost my virginity! On the bus into Nottingham, despite having only just stepped out of the shower and into clean clothes, I felt sweat running from my arm-pits onto my torso. My hands were cold and clammy and my mouth as dry as dust. They say there’s no fool like an old fool and I fitted the bill perfectly. What was I thinking of? The photos I’d sent her were taken a few years ago, when I like to think that I looked alright: - Happy, relaxed, not too fat or too grey. I haven’t worn well. What on earth would she think when she met me in the flesh?
I was so flooded with adrenaline that I felt unsteady on my feet as I entered the bar...There was Hannah already! I recognised her instantly from her photos but was shocked to see how petite she was; she couldn’t have been more than four feet ten, and probably a size 6. She did however, have curves in all the right places and was far prettier than I’d been expecting. I felt another surge of excitement.
As I approached, she flashed a dazzling smile and said in her sexy, posh voice
“You must be Bob”
She tilted up her head so that I could stoop and kiss her gently on the cheek. Thank god for that: - I was dreading giving her a formal handshake with my sweaty mits! We turned to look at the beers on the bar and simultaneously burst out laughing; there was one called No Strings Golden Ale, brewed by some micro-brewery, and before I could say anything, she ordered two pints.
We took them to the comfy seats and began to chat. Hannah was caustically witty, intelligent, thoughtful, and downright off-beat. She was also incredibly open; she was married and loved her husband dearly but he was older than her and in poor health; she was as new to this and as nervous as I was. Before we’d finished our drinks, I thought it only fair to disclose some things about myself, and when I told her of Penny’s death, she held my hand.
She suggested, quite forcibly I thought, that it was my round and we ought to have another drink, but in a different pub. How could I refuse?
Mansfield Road is something of a gravity-assisted paradise for real ale drinkers and it turned out that Hannah was no stranger to the delights of starting at the top and zigzagging down the hill.
First Fade and then the Poacher: - Both were also serving No Strings Ale and we felt we had to have a pint in each. I don’t know if it was the booze or some strange voodoo at work, but I was starting to feel euphoric. Hannah was utterly enchanting and I wanted to keep talking to her.
It was my round again and we held hands as we crossed Mansfield Road to the Nag’s Head, where we had another pint of No Strings. More conversation, more laughs, more personal history. If we were on a gravity-assisted pub-crawl, we were in a car in which the brakes had been tampered with and we were heading for somewhere dangerous. Love?
Again, I can’t remember who suggested it, but we decided that food was needed and the first place we saw was a Chinese which Penny and I used to go to when we were first living together. We were ridiculously poor back then, and used to save 20p pieces in one of my Gran’s old Steredent tubes. When we had enough, this was the place to which we’d come to for our big treat. It was unlicensed, but for an hour we used to feel like millionaires, out of our grotty first flat, with a cheap bottle of plonk from the offy, dining together. Staff came to expect us to pay in 20ps after a while. We were young and so in love.
These memories surfaced while talking to Hannah and rather than feeling sad, I felt lucky to have had them. Meal over and we both wanted another drink. We lurched left out of the restaurant; arm-in-arm and it struck me just how drunk I was feeling.
The rest of the crawl was a blur! By the time we hit The Peacock we were like a couple of drunken, giggling kids, intermittently snogging each other’s faces off and then laughing uproariously at our own jokes. We were disgraceful! And so old enough to know better.
Of course we ended up in bed together. And of course the sex was clumsy and rubbish. We were too far gone! You don’t sink a skin full of ale and perform like 20 year-olds when you’re our age. Hannah didn’t seem bothered and she fell asleep, tiny and gorgeous, nestling against me.
That was a few years ago now. Hannah and I are still firm friends (nothing more) and our friendship goes far beyond any notion of No Strings Fun. When her husband passed away I held her hand throughout the funeral and supported her through her grief.
I’m pleased to say that both of us have moved on from our losses. We still drink together and occasionally raise a toast to the ties of friendship: - ‘To No Strings!’
Seen here is one of the two runners up, Janet Hudson, receiving her prize from the Managing Director of Castle Rock Chris Holmes, Competition Judge Mick Bajcar, and CAMRA Chair Steve Westby.
And here is her poem 'Memories'
MEMORIES
Do you remember Mosley Street
With the Lion at the top?
Well I grew up at the bottom
Where the horses used to stop.
All the draymen knew me
They’d wave and say “hello”
And the sparks flew off the cobbles
Almost fifty years ago.
My godmother kept the “Lion”
And was known both near and far;
She had a parrot called Micky
Who lived in a cage on the bar.
Can you remember the brewery
When the Star was a bright fiery red ?
When you knew they were brewing because of the smell
Now they use it for auctions instead.
Can you remember Hyson Green
Before all the boozers closed down ?
You could start in the Scotholme or “Old G”
And be drunk by the time you reached Town
Can you remember when pubs were pubs,
Off license ; snug ; outside loo?
“The Raven” a last spit and sawdust pub
Yes, I can remember that too.
I’ll always remember Mosley Street
With memories fond and clear,
When horses delivered barrels
And “Shippo’s” Star Brewery brewed beer.
Janet Hudson August 2011
Congratulations to all three winners and a big thank you to all who participated.
('Strings' was published in issue 108 [page 21] of the Nottingham Drinker which can be downloaded here.)
('Memories' was published in issue 109 [page 21] of the Nottingham Drinker which can be downloaded here.)
