On The QT

Apparently Tuesday is the new Thursday. Or at least that’s the word on the street. And by street I mean Taps. And by Taps I mean the bar. And by the bar I mean next to the hatch.

Anyway, that’s the story I’m hearing.

Keep it under your hats.

Not To Stereotype, But...

There are certain people that you always find by themselves[1] in the pub (well you'll know this already if you spend any amount of time in pubs...which you all do - unreconstructed lushes that you are).

It's a universal pub constant.

Paolo Coehle noted that, “Borges said there are only four stories to tell: a love story between two people, a love story between three people, the struggle for power and the voyage. All of us writers rewrite these same stories ad infinitum.”

Well, similarly there are only a finite number of people that you’ll meet in the pub, although, of course, there are endless variations upon them. Infinite in their variation, but finite in their type and category.

[Really, this is true. Go to the pub and have a look yourself right now….no, I don’t care that you’re at work, university or actually already in the pub (although, admittedly, that will prove a slightly tricky existential problem. I mean exactly how do you go to the pub if you’re already there? Is it a state of mind thing?). Just go].

Go and look around. Look around and you will see:

1. The mad barely coherent Scots/Irishman.
He or she (and in the case of the mad barely coherent Scots/Irishman it really can be either) will inevitable be completely drunk and you’ll never be able to understand a single word that they're saying.

Really, even other Scottish and Irish people can't understand them. Which is understandable given that they're speaking an entirely different language.

(Apparently it's called Scotsirishincoherentjamesonsdrunkenese).

But, that said they're generally harmless. Unless they try and talk to you. In which case good luck.

2. The poor young fella putting all the 'just-broken-up-with-his girlfriend' songs on the jukebox.
He'll have just broken up with his girlfriend.

Don't worry he won't want to talk to you (but you will have to put up with his choice in music all night).

[of course this only applies to pubs with jukeboxes. If there’s no jukebox he’ll spend the evening telling the bar staff that all women are sluts who exist only to rip a man’s heart out]

An addendum to this however is that if No.2 happens to be a woman, then she'll be quietly singing along to the just broken up with her boyfriend songs and crying. However, she will also have her friends with her to look after her as women are generally much better at supporting their friends at times like those then men are.

3. The poor young fella who only a few weeks ago was poor young fella No.2

He's also feeding the juke box, but now he's playing 'happy' song. And trying to chat up every woman in the pub.  And telling everyone how happy is without his ex.

And dying a small death inside.

Don’t worry though, because by the end of the night he'll be person No.2 again.

Also harmless.

4. The really drunk bloke who tells you the same thing about five times in a row.

This can be especially dangerous when this is an old person, in which case they'll often get about half way through the story before starting the story from the beginning again.

Must avoid.

5. Deaf old man who wants to shake your hand for five hours.

Self explanatory.

6. The bloke with the ludicrous, obviously stupid money making scheme.

They'll spend half an hour telling you all about it...and all the while you're thinking 'that's so never going to work.'  But you have to nod, take their business care, and agree with them anyway.

They’re also harmless (unless you're a complete idiot and you agree to invest in their idea).

7. The bloke who sits at the bar and doesn’t say a word all night.

He's not wasting his time getting up to go to the jukebox. For him drinking is a serious business. You can talk to him, but he's almost certainly a weirdo. Temperamentally and by inclination I'm a number No.7

Exactly.

That should be warning enough.

8. The mental.

You know him. You clocked him the moment he came in. He’s talking to himself and just starring at people. For some reason he came in with three plastic bags full up with old newspapers.

Absolutely do not talk to him.

9. The old man who spends two hours drinking his pint of John Smiths during the day.

Harmless, and often a source of some interesting stories.

10. The guy who really fancies one of the barmaids.

Mainly self explanatory and generally harmless, unless he decides to rhapsodize about her to you at great length. In which case your chances of getting away from the conversation are almost nil.

Sometimes difficult to differentiate from type No.7. But if you look closely you’ll be able to recognise that particular gormless look of hopeless puppy dog adoration.

11. The man with problems

Ah, now this man is the real danger. He’s got a problem. And it’s one big enough to drive him to drink by himself in some random pub. And whether it be a problem with his wife, his kids, his job, his girlfriend, his mistress, or his mortgage he’s going to tell you all about it. He’s going to tell you all about it at great length and in minute detail. He’ll ignore every single sign that you’re not interested in what he’s saying and he’ll just keep coming and coming until he’s drunk enough to go home.

The man with problems is the Doomsday scenario of all pub types.

Should you encounter him you truly will have looked into the heart of darkness.

------------

At the moment those are all that I can think of (and obviously there are more). As always I welcome everyone’s input either as a comment or in person to me in the pub.

---

[1] I obviously exclude regulars from this. Regulars always nominally go to the pub by themselves, but in reality they know that they will always know everyone there. This is something that I’ve struggled to explain to people at work who don’t go to pubs. They’ll ask what I’m doing at the weekend, and I’ll say the pub and they’ll ask me who with, not being able to grasp the concept that you can go by yourself.

The Kings Head

Well, obviously the Taps was still shut last night for its refurb (of course it’s not actually a full on refurb, but more of a touch up and a lick of paint) and obviously I’m very excited to see what she looks like tonight, but I was over at the Kings Head last night and while, as I’ve previously said, I have a great deal of time for the Kings Head and think it’s a lovely building with some very nice members of staff, there’s just something about the place that I find rather soulless.

Of course a good deal of that is simply that it’s a new pub and it’s still finding its sense of self, but at the moment it’s a nice enough big pub that's just lacking a real identity. And it's that sense of identify and of character which makes a local.

For instance, I know that there are some people who are regulars in the Taps who, when it comes down to it, don’t necessarily even particularly like the Taps (correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t think it would be unfair to, say, put my brother and Gareth in that category), but for whom even so, it’s still their local (in something approximating the same way that you can’t choose your family). It’s still HQ. Where they, often without even thinking about it, find themselves at the beginning or the end of a night. Or watching the football during the week. Just hanging out on a day off after going to town to do some shopping. It’s the place, where, whether they like it or not (and it seems, possibly not), they have an emotional attachment to.

And I suppose that process takes time. The Kings Head has only been open for a few months and will take much longer than that to get to that point, and genuinely I would like to get to the point where I do look on the place with genuine affection, but it’s certainly not there yet.

I don't know what anyone else thinks, but that's certainly my impression at the moment.

Hangover

Never let it be said that Taps Richard is not a man of his word.

As promised I took last Friday off as leave so that I could enjoy Thursday to the full and not have to go home all sad and depressed when everyone was able to stay out.

I’ve said this before but I can’t really fully enjoy a drink unless I’ve got the next day off/free. Obviously if I have to go to work the next day I can’t stay out too long, but equally, if I need to be up and about the next day (even if up and about only entails going to the pub) because my hangovers are just so epically hideous, it means that I have to stop just as I’m really getting up a good head of drinking steam.

I’m absolutely convinced that I suffer the worst hangovers in the entire world. These are things which would kill normal men. Crush them. Chew them up and spit them out. They’re titanic and relentless and only a hero, a warrior, a Knight without fear or blemish can endure them without being moved to bitter shameful tears of pain and despair. No other mortal man can possible suffer that which I mustI. Of that I'm completely convinced. I’m like Atlas eternally bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders in punishment for an ancient crime. Or Prometheus, who gave the gift of fire to man, chained to a rock and condemned to have my liver eaten every night by Kronenbourg (or something like that). All I can do is suffer silently. Endure heroically and grit my teeth and wrestle, white knuckled, with the twisted son of a bitch, from daybreak to dusk.

[I don’t tell you this to seek your sympathy - only your understanding]

So anyway, I took Friday off (something which I intend to do again this Friday as well) and therefore Thursday was an appropriately good night, with most of the usual suspects out for it.

Naturally on Friday I woke up with a monstrous ball of a hangover and so dragged myself to Taps for a bit to talk to Irena and then went round to Buffalos with Casey for lunch – which, to be honest did help. Got back to Taps and chatted and did the crossword for a few hours over a few ice cold Coronas with Irena and Casey and then headed off home much recovered and slightly restored.

Taps cures all.

[Needless to say, the Taps does not cure all and this is not meant as literal medical advice. Anyone relying on the curative and palliative capabilities of Taps does so at their own risk and of their own volition and is a complete idiot. Is that understood?

Good.

Now get out of here]

(oh, and see you in the Kings Head tonight)

Just a thought...

Working behind a bar isn't as glamourous as it appears. Shocking I know, but it isn't just cocktail shakers and romps with beautiful ladies between banana daquiris. Yesterday afternoon, I had to remove all trace of a pile of freshly laid adult human faeces armed with nothing more than a plastic bag, a pair of rubber gloves, a can of air freshener and some tissue paper...

Now had one of my more senior regulars had some sort of accident after failing to reach the facilities in time, I would help them out as best i could. But the mystery donor of the pile of crap had managed to make his way down to the toilets - and rather than simply lift the lid and sitting down to deposit in time honoured fashion he decided to pinch one out on top of the closed lid.

I was clearly not the first person to happen upon the waste in question. Someone in their haste to use the crapper more conventionally lifted the lid and handled their business. Now I'm going to spare you the details but quite apart from the stench, the sight that assaulted me as i peeled the lid down will haunt me forever.

So just a thought... IF YOU'RE NOT POTTY TRAINED YOU SHOULD PROBABLY STAY OUT OF THE PUB. YOU ARE CLEARLY LACKING THE MENTAL CAPABILITIES THAT ALLOW HUMANS TO FUNCTION IN CIVILISED SOCIETY AND IF I WERE YOU, I WOULD FOCUS OR NOT FORGETTING TO BREATHE. Rant over.

Rays Record

As I'm sure we all know Guinness drinkers have a bit of a reputation in the Taps. Before Richard went to the dark side, by that I mean started drinking Kronenbourg in the Winter as well as Summer, he held the Guinness record of 22 pints in one day. I think it is safe to say that this is an amazing achievement and would be extremely difficult to beat.

However, I think Ray could be the man to do it!

Ray came in on Monday night, which happened to be Valentines Day, for a 'quick pint'. Now this obviously didn't mean he was going to have just one pint, but two, maybe three, would have been the average for someone who was just having a 'quick' drink. Ray managed to leave the pub just 1 hour and 20 minutes after he arrived so that he wasn't late for his romantic Valentines meal with his wife. The astonishing thing is that Ray managed to drink 6 pints of Guinness in this time.

6 PINTS!!!! That averages out at a pint every 13 minutes........that is amazing!

Therefore, I think that Ray could, and should, beat Richards record. Ray doesn't know that he needs to do this yet, but he's fairly new and I don't want him to think we are completely mental........although I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be entirely surprised.....but I will in the near future be encouraging him to attempt to drink just 23 pints in a day.

It should only take him about 5 hours.......

Multi Coloured Hair Man

I promised to post so here goes.......

So......on Sunday evening I was having my usual chilled out shift, all of about 4 customers were in but not really drinking thus I was reading my paper quite happily. Irena then came in so we were there having a chat, as we usually do, when a random guy and his friend came into the pub. My initial impression was that this guy was a generally nice, fun-loving kind of chap (this is mainly because he was very approachable and had multi coloured hair).........oh how wrong I was. By that I don't mean that he was a weirdo as he was fairly normal really, but he was not in a fun-loving mood.

As soon as he came in he targeted me and Irena as we were pretty much the only people in there and joined into our chat, it soon became apparent that he was very opinionated - he stated that if you were to attend a traffic light party in red then you were boring but if you wore green you were a slut, me and Irena thought this was highly amusing. He then spoke to us about his 'bar experience' when he worked at the Alfred Herring in Wood Green. He obviously was not a fan of the regulars there at all and gave a very different perspective to our usual 'regulars' debates. According to 'multi coloured hair man' all regulars were "desperate drunk inbred swines", at which point me and Irena laughed alot but tried to explain that not all regulars were like this, however, he could not see how this could be the case. It was just very amusing that the experience of barstaff in one pub can be oh so very different to that in another pub, even if it is a Wetherspoons in Wood Green.

We proceeded to find out (with a little help from Ryan and Katie who joined the conversation) that he had been dumped by his girlfriend that day which was the reason for his hatred towards women......not entirely sure if that explains the hating of regulars though.

If any regulars feel offended by this, don't worry, he proceeded to tell me that all women were horrible human beings and behind every man was a "slut who ripped his heart out"!

Well, it was one way of brightening up a Sunday evening... and we now have a new way to describe unwanted regulars, "desperate drunk inbred swine"...

Spurs

I watched Spurs/AC Milan in the pub last night with Irena, Jude and Daryl and an array of other random people who had come in the for the game.

As you know, the Taps is mainly a Spurs pub, although there’s often a fair Arsenal contingent in as well, and it’s therefore always really busy for Spurs games, and particularly so for the big games (and games don’t get much bigger than the knock out stage of the European Cup against AC Milan in the San Siro), and there was a really quite tense and nervous atmosphere in the pub. Everyone was up for it from the start and the game itself didn’t disappoint. It was just nice to share that communal experience in your local pub with friends, and indeed with strangers.

[Although Jude’s insistent and, as the game went on, increasingly more vehement calls for someone to ‘do’ Gattuso, was slightly worrying].

Pub of The Year

Our doppelganger namesake pub was today named as a runner up in the national pub of the year awards. Which is to say that of all the thousands of pubs in the country, it’s considered to be the second best.

While we, as ‘Mally_drinker’ on Beerintheevening pithily summarises are a pub ‘full of 40+ women and blokes with nowhere else to go...beer actually OK, but volume of noise and prick-count way too high... ‘

In other words then, we’re not just the slightly disappointing, underachieving, doesn’t really know what they want to do with their life sibling to the Taps Lytham St Annes, highflyer, we’re the crack head junkie, stealing from your wallet and pawning your jewellery sibling.

I'm beginning to think that we might have been adopted.

Sorry

Apologies my Taps comrades, but once again I’m too snowed under at work to post anything substantial at the moment. However, young Jade has promised to post not one but two (yes, I said two) pieces shortly.

I’m quite sure that she’ll be as good as her word.

[Or else].

Pub Conversations Re-visited

This couple came into the pub last night at around about, oh…8pm I’d say. They must have been in their late 30’s. Very well dressed. A little bit drunk from dinner (I assume). But in all respects perfectly normal people.

They order their drinks and sit down at the bar and the woman (who was quite attractive as it happens) immediately turns around to this bloke who’s sitting (who happened to be a weirdo – although that isn’t really relevant to the story) by himself at the bar, and loudly says to him so that everyone can hear, “see us [referring to the bloke she’d come in with], we’ve been going out for five years, and even though he keeps promising, he won’t leave his wife.” At which point she turns away from him and starts to loudly address everyone at the bar, “all we ever do is meet up once a week for a shag, and that’s it. That’s all we are. We? Hah! We aren’t anything, there is no we, no us. We’re not anything.”

And the thing is that she wasn’t hysterical about it or anything. She was just matter of factly telling this room full all of people all about her life, while this bloke stood there red faced and was tugging at her arm to get her to leave.

It was brilliant. Don't tell me you get conversations like that in Tesco.

Wish You Were Here Redux

I’ve talked about this before, but last night was another one of those nights where I really just wanted to stay. Jade, Charlotte, Gareth, my brother, Lee and Charlie were all in, and all in good spirits (vodka mainly), it wasn’t particularly busy and everyone was having a nice time.

Which, as is often the case, was exactly when I had to leave as I had to be at work this morning. .

As I left the last thing I heard, as I trudged forlorn and alone off into the cold dark night, was Gareth loudly proclaiming, ‘right, it’s shot o’clock!’ and everyone cheering their agreement.

Frankly, I thought that was a bit insensitive.   

I Did It My Way

I take back what I said yesterday about the rota for talking to new potential regulars. Well I kind of take it back. Basically, while I still think that a rota is a good idea and we should be as open and welcoming to people as possible, I just don’t want to be on it. To be perfectly frank I feel that I've done my bit.

It’s just not fair. I always get stuck with the random person who comes in and wants to talk for hours on end about some crushingly dull nonsense (like his house or his dog or his mother in law) when I just want to read the paper or do the crossword. I mean if there’s a socially awkward, slightly odd, monumentally tedious bore in the pub you can guarantee that it’s me.

Sorry, I mean you can guarantee that he’s sat next to me.

So while potential regulars rota = good.

Taps Richard on the potential regulars rota = bad.

Hey, Are You New?

How do you become a regular then? For me, becoming a regular in the Taps was mainly achieved by default, in that my brother, as a founding regular, had started drinking in there pretty much every single day from the day it opened. And because of that I was in fairly frequently to watch the football (the Enfield Arms not having Sky) with him and was just considered a regular because I was immediately introduced to everyone and was just de facto included in the crowd as his brother.

However the process of becoming a regular when you don’t know anyone in the pub is far more problematic.

Now the SIRC published guidance document ‘Passport to the Pub’ describes the process as follows:

How to become a regular

First, choose your pub carefully. If you are here in the tourist season, avoid the obviously tourist-oriented pubs and the larger, more impersonal big-chain pub-restaurants. Instead, search out a smallish, friendly local in a back-street, suburb or village. Make sure that it is a pub full of regulars (see Chapter 3 for tips on identifying regulars). Try a few pubs until you find the one with the warmest welcome and the atmosphere that suits you.

Once you have found the right friendly local, demonstrate loyalty by visiting this pub as often as possible - at least 3 times in a week, preferably including at least one weekday evening and one Sunday lunchtime. Going on weekday evenings will show that you are a serious regular pubgoer, not just a casual Saturday-night-out visitor. The pub is also likely to be less busy on weekday evenings, giving you more opportunities to get to know the publican and bar staff. In many locals, Sunday lunchtime is one of the most popular ‘sessions’ with regulars, when they are at their most genial and relaxed.

At the first opportunity, buy a drink for the publican (or the member of bar staff who serves you), using the "and one for yourself?" formula. Also try to find an early opportunity to make friendly contact with the other regulars. Get involved in the chat at the bar counter, and play your full part in the round-buying ritual. If you must order inappropriate drinks, be prepared to be teased about it, and always observe the customary rules of introduction if you wish to participate in pub-games.

Variations

The precise number of visits required to demonstrate your loyalty will vary from pub to pub. In some very friendly pubs, you may hear the charming old saying "You come here twice, you’re a regular". This is not to be taken literally - no-one expects to enjoy all the privileges of a long-standing, established regular after only two visits, but the sentiment is genuine, and admirable. The publicans who use this phrase tend to be those who pride themselves on learning each new customer’s name and preferred drink in less than two ‘sessions’. Some local pubs may be more insular and wary of strangers, and it may take you a bit longer to gain the confidence of the natives - but achieving this can be an even more rewarding experience.

Now, I think this is actually quite good advice, although it will certainly take you more than two visits to become a regular in any pub (in fact the idea that you can become a regular after two visits is an insult), in fact in the Taps it would probably take at least a month of coming in regularly, sitting at the bar and making an effort to join in conversation here and there (without being too intrusive) to be considered a regular.

I actually vaguely remember when Lee first started to come in semi- regularly and he’d sit at the bar and make an effort to join in every now and then (although not all the time), and I remember thinking, ‘who is this strange bloke’ – and this went on for a couple of months I think, until I came in one day, and for whatever reason he’d got talking to my brother and they’d spent most of an afternoon drinking together, then I got talking to him and from that point onwards he broke into regular society (that is the society of regulars, rather than regular society, which the Taps very much isn’t).

Now I look back on that with some sense of regret because Lee’s obviously a really nice bloke and I feel a bit bad about not making more of an effort when he first starting coming in and sitting at the bar.

Or perhaps that’s part of the process. You have to pay your dues for a while. Prove that you’re serious. Committed to the thing.

When I first started going to the Enfield Arms I’d just go in and sit at the bar and it helped that the regulars and staff were incredibly friendly (far, far more than we are), and that they had a pool table which you could just put a pound down on and play the winner, which meant that you immediately got talking to people.

So what I’m saying is, is that perhaps we should start making more of an effort. Be a bit more welcoming when we see someone come in once or twice. Make up some kind of a rota whereby each week it will be a different person’s responsibility to make contact with any new people who might have started coming in. Because that person sitting at the bar by himself might be Lee, and how would you feel if Lee went to a new pub now and people just ignored (like we – I – admittedly did to begin with) him and wouldn't include him? Exactly, you’d feel terrible.

So how about it.

I'll See You When You Get There

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, although in my case, it would probably be fonderer. Except that fonderer isn’t a real word, and it doesn’t really make any sense anyway.

So in my case, it would be would be absence makes the heart grow even more fond.

Absence and exile.

It’s not that I want to be away, you understand. But rather that I must. I have a series of spectacularly early mornings to get up for work for several times this week (which I need to be on the ball for) and I have to look after my nieces on Wednesday evening, all of which means that I quite possibly won’t be in Taps until Friday after work (oh, yes, it rends my heart). Although I will try for Thursday.

Which for me is a long time to be away. A very long time indeed. And I miss the Taps dearly, because it’s just miserable.

I once had a friend named Stella Andy (well I suppose I still do have a friend named Stella Andy, it’s just that we fell out of contact a couple of years ago so I’m not sure if he still considers me to be a friend or not. Although, should that impact on whether on not I can say that I have a friend named Stella Andy? Because I still consider him a friend so does it really matter what he thinks? I mean it shouldn't really, should it). And Stella Andy was one of a number of after work regulars at the 3 Tuns Bar  (which was my after work local for many years)  at the LSE.

[He was called Stella Andy because for a number of years, before anyone knew him, he would come to the pub at lunchtime – these being the days when you could drink at lunchtime - and after work, and stand at the bar drinking Stella. And so the bar staff just referred to him between themselves as Stella Man – I’ve come to understand that bar staff refer to their customers under any such number of often unflattering sobriquets all the time – for years (which all the regulars came to refer to him as), until it eventually became known that his name was Andy, after which he was just called Stella Andy by everyone from that point onwards].[1]

Now I recall someone once asking him why he went to the pub every night after work instead of going home, to which he could only plaintively and with utter incredulity reply: ‘And do what? Watch television?’

And it’s true. At least for people like myself [and Stella Andy] anyway. I mean seriously, I’m supposed to go home and watch Come Dine with Me, and Hell’s Kitchen USA? That’s what I’m supposed to do? Really?

I’m supposed to get up and go to work everyday at ungodly o’clock in the morning. Get on the train. Struggle onto the tube and then work hard all day, and then struggle back home, just so that I can enjoy the dubious pleasure of watching Top fucking Gear?

How on earth do people do that?

Obviously I understand that most people in the country manage to successfully do it, but for me it’s just totally bleedin’ miserable. I mean it’s just not normal.

Anyway, I’ll keep you updated.

Oh, and nobody sit on my stool.

[I’m watching you]

---

[1] As it happens I was in a random conversation with another random regular at the 3 Tuns named Ron, years ago, and we were just talking about the names people have in the pub e.g. ‘Tall Paul’, Scabby Mark’, ‘Scottish Jim’, ‘Stella Andy’, ‘Stev Dave’ and so on, and he told me that there was a bloke in his pub called legless Jim, and I asked him was that because he got absolutely hammered all the time and he said no, it’s because he doesn’t have any legs.

That made me laugh.  

The Taps Dinner Club

Daryl and I were talking about forming a Taps dinner club last Friday evening.

A dinner club, as the name suggests, is a club where like minded people periodically get together to have dinner in a different restaurant every other month or so, choosing the restaurant based on theme, or chef, by rota, or just by random.

Now I don’t think we’d necessarily be talking about going to stupidly expensive multi-Michelin starred places, but certainly going somewhere which was known for producing high quality interesting and talked about food would be quite pleasant on a bi-monthly basis.

For instance, I’ve never had oysters before, but I like Mark Hix as a chef and have heard lots of good things about this place and would really quite like to go there.

[I’d also really, really like to go to the Mongolian Barbeque, because well, it’s a Mongolian Barbeque and I can only imagine that it’s filled with pits of charring meat and long tables of people drinking tankards of beer and banging said tankards on the table as they join in a rousing carouse of some sort (or at least that’s what will happen when we go)]

Then the next time around Daryl might want to go an authentic sushi restaurant like Nobu  or something. And then the next time, Irena (for example), would choose, and then so on and so on.

Anyway, we think it’s a good idea.

I’d say that a critical mass of people needed to kick this off would be about five or six and I’d suggest that we agree on bi-monthly meetings of the Taps dinner club.

So let us know what you think and we'll see if we can get this thing organised.

The Langham Hotel, Boston

Now that's a serious looking bar.

Have You Got The Winning Ticket?

If I won the Euro lottery I’d buy the Taps. This would no doubt prove disastrous for the pub, but would be wonderful for me.

I’d also buy the funeral parlour and G. Mathews on either side and knock them through so that I could make Super Taps (that wouldn’t be the actual name of course. It would still just be the Taps. Except in my head where it would be Super Taps).

Unfortunately Irena would have to move out because I’d also knock out the upper floors and build Super Taps upwards over all three floors, but I’d buy her somewhere else to live nearby.

So you’d have the ground floor and then the next two floors would be balcony type affairs looking down onto the first floor, so that when you’re on the ground floor you can look all the way up to the top of the building. I might go for some kind of large brass chandelier of some sort up there as well, although I’m not entirely sure about that at the moment.

Super Taps would be very much the same as it is now, save that I’d have a square bar in the middle with lots of dark polished wood (I'm thinking walnut) and gleaming brass fittings and pumps. And obviously it would go up over three floors so there would be lots of dark wooden spiral stair cases dotted around leading upwards into the dark corners of the balconies of the Gods.

The bar stools themselves would, of course, be exquisite.

I’d decorate the walls with prints of old Enfield buildings and landscapes, and I would encourage the regulars to also add any pieces that they might have themselves (Super Taps of course being a communal entity – although obviously it’s still mine). The upper balcony floors would be lined wall to ceiling with books, and would be carpeted, with table seating and large leather armchairs.

We would, of course, have Sky Sport.

But we wouldn’t, of course, have random scummers.

We’d also have all of the broadsheet newspapers delivered daily and if any regular wanted a particular periodical (the economist or private eye, say) we’d arrange to have that delivered as well.

I’d also have literally hundreds of different bottles of whiskeys, bourbons and scotches behind the bar, and while we’re at it we might as well get some good real ales on as well.

Now I know that some of you think that I wouldn’t let anybody in – but that isn’t the case. I’m all for pubs, I genuinely think that they’re one of the finest things about this country and of real benefit to people as a communal focal point. That being the case I obviously want for there to be more pubs. I want to see fewer closing down and more people using them, and so, naturally, I wouldn’t object to people coming to Super Taps.

However, it would be true to say that I would be very quick to chuck people out. Basically Super Taps really wouldn’t be the kind of place you went to have fun. Super Taps would be the kind of place you went to have a chat, catch up with friends, do the crossword, watch the football, get drunk and be bloody quiet about it.

There’ll be no wandering around yahooing it up in Super Taps I can assure you.

To that end, Super Taps will be over 25’s (unless I know you and like you). And I mean actually and in all reality over 25’s, and not just a sign on the door which serves absolutely no purpose at all.

We’ll have no shouting either – unless the football is on.  I suppose that basically Super Taps would just be what Taps is like now Monday – Wednesdays, just done in a spruced up kind of way.

I wouldn’t expect the staff to wear a uniform and rather they could wear what they wanted (within reason); and I’d pay them better. I’m of the opinion that serving behind the bar is a skill (if you’re good at it that is), and that being the case the remuneration should reflect it. I sometimes look at Gareth, say, doing several pints at a time, having a brief joke with random customer and keeping an eye on who’s next at the bar and think ‘you know what, that’s not easy. That’s a skill.’

So let’s say £11 an hour then [to be fair I’d have to pay that to keep most of the ones we’ve got now because I expect that they might end up being bloody bored in Super Taps and they’d probably leave otherwise]

I’d also have live music on a Friday and Saturday night. Just really good cover bands of the sort that you used to get at O’Connors in Palmers Green when it was still there. I will allow a certain amount of yahooing it up on those nights (just not near me). Although I’m still only going to let normal decent people in.

I could write about Super Taps all day but unfortunately I've got work to do.

Oh Super Taps, when shall you be mine?

Google Street View

Is this Irena?

Things I like About Pubs #1

Pub conversation is a funny thing. Now don’t get me wrong, most of the conversation you have in the pub is the same as most of the conversation you have outside of the pub (albeit with a lot more swearing and pauses where you have to think…hang on what was I saying again?), but there are some conversations which you only ever hear in the pub, for instance Adam’s regular updates from the front line of his long running clandestine feud with his family’s fat cat, or updates on Gerry’s improbable long running feud with television chef Rick Stein.

Whimsical, non sequiturous (if that’s a word) conversations like that don’t happen out in the real world (probably for good reason), or if they did people would think that you were mental.

But they’re one of my favourite things about pubs. [Conversely one of my least favourite things about pubs is when you get lumbered with some drunken reactionary bore banging on about the immigrants or Political Correctness gone mad or the Muslims or advocating shipping all prisoners off to an Island off the coast of Northern Russia and just leaving them there (no wait, that one’s me)]

You Need Power

There was another black out in the Taps last night. The power went off at half time in the football so around half eight.

Most of the non regular crowd that you get in on a (non Thursday) weekday night are generally in specifically for the football so Brodie corralled them up and sent them over to the Kings Head where they had football, lighting and heating.

But then here’s how you know a real regular. A real regular will stay even without the above. A real regular will sit at the bar drinking by candlelight, doing the crossword by the light of his mobile phone, thinking ‘this is the best frickin’ thing ever.’

In the end then it was just myself, Deon (who was working), Irena (who was on the phone being her usual polite patient self with the electricity company), Terry, Sarah, Murray and Sean.

And it was great. No music. No people, and no randoms.

Doormen Des and Terry (who, now that I come to think about it, are worth a long post all to themselves[1]) came in after a while for a drink and every time someone would come in and see that there was no lights on Deon would tell them that the pub was closed. At which point Des would pick up a bunch of beer mats and hand one to each of the people and (absolutely deadpan in that way he does) tell them that if they took them over to the Kings Head and asked for Brodie they could exchange them for a free drink over there in compensation for the inconvenience.

Half an hour later a completely bemused Brodie phones up asking: ‘why the hell are people in the Kings Head trying to pay for their drinks with Taps beer mats?’

That made me laugh.

---

[1] I’ll put it on the forward planner. The problem is that I think of more things than I have time to write. Of course this would be resolved if some of the rest of you would pull your weight and get posting. (Please see me for article allocations and commissions. I pay in Guinness and Black, Magners and Archers and Lemonade).

Pub Advice #2

Never get into a fight with somebody with tattoos on their face.

Correction Part 2

Re-reading yesterday’s post I realise that I may have been slightly unclear. It wasn’t my intention to imply that people in the pub couldn’t be depended upon, or even that the regulars in general weren’t trustworthy, because that’s untrue.

What I meant was that the pub, as a both a physical and metaphorical entirety, isn’t something that you can depend on in an absolute black and white way in the same way that you can your family or friends.

Which isn’t of course to say that people in the pub can’t be depended upon or trusted, because there are certainly those that you can. But those people are to be trusted based on an evaluation of their own merits rather than merely because they’re Taps regulars.

You can make genuine friends in the pub. Not just pub friends or people who work there and you chat to, but real friends in the outside world kind of way. People whose birthdays and weddings and children’s christenings you attend, but equally you’ll become reasonably friendly with people who, frankly, you wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire (by you wouldn’t I mainly mean I wouldn’t).

There are people in Taps who I genuinely care for and whose friendship I value greatly, and I hope that there are some people who feel the same about me, and perhaps to that extent, Irena is somewhat right.

While it’s not family per se, it is comradeship. It is familiarity. And often it’s trust and mutual respect.

(Equally often though, while it’s still familiarity it’s also distrust, annoyance and total bloody irritation).