IT often gets said young people in this country don’t know who they are any more, that they’ve lost their way.
That they don’t know any history, that they don’t know any tradition.
PA:Press AssociationAl Murray aka The Pub Landlord[/caption]
GettyAl says: ‘There is one place we do not queue: Pubs’[/caption]
Usually this gets said by the people who raised them, but let’s not quibble.
But lately there has been an epidemic that has swept the nation, that no mask, no vaccine, no social distancing, no PM at a lectern looking sad can cure.
I am of course talking about: QUEUING IN PUBS.
Now here’s the thing. We, the British, are the world’s greatest queuers. Nobody does it better. It makes me feel sad for the rest.
Seriously, the way we British give the evil eye to people who push in at theme parks should be looked into by the boffins at the MoD as some sort of death-ray.
But the truth remains — there is one place we do not queue: Pubs.
We never have. And we never should. It’s in the Magna Carta, and if it’s not someone should put it in. Now.
Standing in a line, looking at your phone, waiting your turn — this is not pub behaviour.
Pub behaviour is getting into the throng at the bar and getting served, for standing at the bar is the purest survival of the fittest environment Modern Man or Woman can face.
Deep in the melee at the bar — French word, won’t use it again — is where you find out who you really are.
Eye contact, sharp elbows, good humour, a knowing wink here, an “after you” there, the sheer luck of the draw.
Knowing your way around all of these things equips you with skills for life no one can do without.
By standing in a queue like a sap and not experiencing the thrill of finally getting served after ten minutes of being ignored and shunned by bar staff who don’t like the look of you, you are missing out on the real world, as it truly is.
You’re cut off, you’re in your bubble. Why have you even gone to the pub?
GettyPub behaviour is getting into the throng at the bar and getting served[/caption]
Blessed are the meek, a great man who was born in the garage of a pub once said, but he didn’t mean queue in pubs.
We are not sheep. We are free. And we do not tip the bar staff either. Behave.
And what are you queuing for anyway?
A glass of white wine that costs north of 12 quid? Or rather, costs 12 quid now, and will cost £14.50 later. Because of what the algorithm generation call “dynamic pricing”.
Brazen behaviour
As ever, this is one of those things we are having to deal with in the modern world when they’ve come up with a new name for an old concept and expect us to be grateful.
Cheaper booze between 5pm and 6pm, after work, that’s called a “Happy Hour”. It always has been.
Yes that means that the beer is more expensive after the Happy Hour but it doesn’t involve some nerd with a slide rule, it doesn’t require an app or a QR code, it doesn’t resemble the sort of brazen behaviour only Oasis would consider.
Being in the pub is something no one should put a price on, dynamic or otherwise.
Now I know the pandemic stopped people going to the pub for a bit but it seems just like the way we’ve shoved that mad year and a half into a memory hole, so we’ve forgotten some basic pub principles.
Now of course, no publican wants to lay down the law, let alone judge anyone or tell anyone what to do in what is, after all, the only place in the whole world where everyone is welcome, regardless of class, creed or colour.
But, do us all a favour and read the blackboard on the left for my rules . . .
House rules . . . ok?
DON’T TALK on your phone on speaker. You are not a contestant on The Apprentice. And if you are a contestant on The Apprentice, you’re barred. That show has caused nothing but trouble.
COCKTAILS, beyond say lager-top, rum and coke levels of sophistication, are for show-offs, divots and the sort of people who will never be happy with anything in life. Why complicate booze?
WE NEED SNACKS in pubs. Some pubs don’t offer them. Pubs without them are like policemen without truncheons. You might not need it every time but it can move things along nicely. Unless it’s those weird hard corn things that taste of the heel of a boot.
RESERVING a table in a pub borders on the kind of premeditation required to secure a murder conviction. Just turn up you psycho.
THE PUB is what you might call a “safe space” if you’re a Herbert. Put your camera away. The woman at the next table is with someone who isn’t her husband. The man at the bar should be in work. The bar staff haven’t got work permits. Their business is not the world’s business, let alone whichever app you post your tedious life on.
POSH CRISPS can do one.
UNISEX TOILETS. I’ll happy go to the toilet in a pub bog surrounded by blokes I’ve never seen before nor will ever see again, missing the urinals and plastering the floor with a liberal helping of what-once-was-lager. But spare me from the prospect of wandering in on a lady doing the same. The mystique possessed by the ladies for a gentleman is one of the most important ingredients in making the world go round, and unisex toilets could result in the end of the human race.
ORDERING from a QR code at a table. Stop it. You are not Elon Musk. You do not live on Mars Base 9. The bar is only over there and you are going to have to interact with the bar staff. Get on with it.
AND above all. Get your round in. It’s the least any of us can do. If we can all just get a grip then I think the British pub will be safe. As long as Wes Streeting doesn’t try to stop the poor sods vaping in the cold and the rain in the beer garden we’re in with a chance.
Good luck Britain’s publicans, we’re all counting on you
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