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History often forgets, but lets try not to. I thought this little fable may be useful for you to tell your kids...
In Ye Olde London, there was a grand olde bar. A bar full of ruffians, sailors, pirates and the occasional - very occasional - gentleman or lady. Often the bar would be full of chat about life, about sports, about loves, about politics, about hidden treasures and of conspiracies. Sometimes, there would be fights - huge disagreements over the law of the land, who would be the next King and often, surprisingly given the clientele, military strategies for domination. The bar was called The Blonde Vixen, or TBV to the drinkers.
Attendance at the bar ebbed and flowed, but it was the sort of place that even at the dead hour of 3am on a Wednesday you might find a fellow in TBV. Unlike many of the competing bars, the conversation never seemed to end. Sometimes it was boring, crass, morose - or just plain ridiculous. But although it got rough occasionally, there was always someone to keep the peace. Behind the bar, there was the 'Camel', named supposedly for his stint in northern Africa, a hearty wench named Cazzzzzzina and a few others, but behind those was the Bar Manager and Owner, Baggers. Baggers had built the bar many years before and looked over the bar with pride. This was his baby, he thought to himself. It was the role of the Bar Managers to remove the vagrants from the Bar, often kicking them on one of their rants. A young gent from Manchester was kicked out a while ago for continually raising his virginity as an issue for discussion. Also, a preacher who thought himself God was also removed; for he was bitter and twisted and harrassed the drinkers as they tried to drown their sorrows. No one wants to be reminded of eternal damnation while they are forgetting the financial woes over a brew.
One day, Baggers announced that The Blonde Vixen was to become a part of the Starbucks Brewhouse chain. "It will be great for us, nothing changes, but there may be some extra traffic". Some of the drinkers perked up '-TBV is going to change'. Others kept drinking away their sorrows. One drinker in particular, an olde sailor named Synbad, spoke aloud (as he would often do) "What are you getting out of this,Baggers?". Could there be some payments going his way? Those that were awake noticed the tension in the room lift; Baggers was not one to be questioned over his bar, but had it become the bar of everyone else?
An argument ensued; for days and days on end. One drinker with a rather vacant look on his face suggested that they take the argument elsewhere; preferably outside. But it continued to rage, sometimes into fisticuffs which would move inside. Bang, Smash, Crash. The drunkard poet in the corner would try to settle the argument with his soothing words, alas, nothing could be done. Baggers' integrity had been questioned; Synbad was determined to find out all the links to Starbucks.
The fight raged on and on; accusations were thrown and associations broken. Weakened, yet angry, Baggers yelled at the top of his voice "I'm closing the Blonde Vixen, and ye can all bugger off. " Lord Deano, one gentleman who frequented the bar, stood up .."But this is our home, we don't want to drink at the other pubs, we want to drink here, quick everybody who wants to stay here stand up!" THose who could stand did so, those too drunk to say anything sat by and watched the argument unfold. But Baggers had decided, and the TBV would be closed. In a mad scramble, the drinkers were kicked from the bar all at once, and the bar managers lost their jobs. The Blonde Vixen had closed.
In the days after, the drinkers moved to other pubs, and new pubs were opened nearby, but they were spread far & wide. The drinkers would now try to find a new home, a place to quench their thirsts and debate new times, at all times remembering their former home, the place of drinking known as TBV.
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