That Thing You Do

Here’s why.

Here’s why we prop up the bar near everyday after work.

Yesterday I had a really shit day at work. One of those days that starts badly and just gets worse. Partly my own fault [I missed something in an email that had quite serious implications regarding the quoracy of a meeting which in turn had further implications vis a vis the legality and robustness of an ongoing decision making process] – partly other people’s – and partly just because sometimes that kind of thing happens. You know what I mean, just one of those days where everything that can go wrong, does.

When I left work I was absolutely fuming about a couple of things and by the time I got off the train at Enfield I was wound up, stressed out and just generally pissed off with the world.

Now I know it’s a cliché (and a horrible one at that), but then I’ve always thought that things become clichéd mainly because they’re true and resonate a certain authenticity, but sometimes you do just want to go somewhere where everyone knows your name.

I mean, we all work hard (well most of us anyway) and sometimes you bring your stresses and worries home with you. You don’t necessarily mean to and you almost certainly don’t want to, but sometimes you do all the same. And the pub is the place where you get rid of that stress. The place where you can clear your head, take a step back, have a think and realise that it’s not all that bad. It’s where you can just shut off the machine that’s in/is your head for a couple of hours and do the crossword and talk about fish or books or neo American imperialism or the Spurs back four for a while.

It’s where you check in your worries for a couple of hours and pick them up again when you leave.

So, as I say, I really was wound up last night when I got in, but then I sat down with Gerry and we just chatted about George's Fish Bar  and scallops and restaurants and the random nut nut who Gerry was in a running discussion/argument with. And I started on the crossword (and then Casey and Daryl got involved) and had a few pints and honestly after a while the world just seemed a lot brighter.

So there it is: the pub is basically prozac for the working classes.