"Do you have a mantra, Alf?" asked Jim.
"A flamin' what?" said Alf. He turned from looking at the girls playing pool in the corner of the bar, to face his mate.
"A mantra. Something you repeat, to give you strength. To direct your life, and concentrate your energy."
Alf thought about this for a moment, then held up his glass. "Beer," he said, then drained the glass.
"Beer," said Alf wiping his mouth. "That's what I say, when I'm tired, and need to concentrate, to get through the day."
"Beer isn't a mantra, Alf."
"It's just a word. It's a drink. It's a beautiful thing, for sure, but it ain't a mantra. A mantra is a phrase that you repeat again, and again. And again."
"But I do."
"You do what?"
"I repeat it," said Alf. "again, and again. I say to myself, 'Beer, beer, beer, beer.' Just quietly, right, but it's fantastic. It really helps me... concentrate my energy."
"You're a Philistine, Alf."
"Thanks Jim. You're a good bloke too. Now, I think it's your shout."
This has been a Sunday Scribblings response to No. 217 (Mantra).