Put Him in the Bed with the Captain’s Daughter

The last post about unexpected evenings reminded me of something that happened a couple of years ago now.

It was a Saturday daytime – quiet as they always are unless there’s a big match on – and the normal crowd of Saturday daytime regulars were in (I should say that Saturday, for me and a few others, is always an all day affair), and for some random reason – as these things do sometimes tend to happen – somebody started to hum the tune to  "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor"

[I forget who was working now]

And as often happens when you get a tune like that in your head, somebody else began to sing along. Now incidents of spontaneous (though quiet) singing aren’t entirely unknown and will sometimes happen on long afternoons sat at the bar when Dylan or the Beatles are playing and at the point of one of their more famous choruses, but it’s generally subdued, uncoordinated and short lived. Although nice in its own way for all that.

Anyway, so one by one, people start to join in.

Until by now the drunken lot of them take it up; fairly quietly at first but slowly, and verse by verse quickly building up until eventually they're all singing at the top of their voices in a baritone creshendo of noise (we’re talking about the usual crowd of Saturday dayers: Jim, Gerry, Peter, Gus, Mark, V and a few more), and all slapping their thighs, stamping their feet in time and sloshing their pint glasses in the air.

The amount of noise that a good coordinated crowd can make in such circumstances – and given the acoustics of the Taps – is really quiet impressive – but more than that it actually sounded quite good.

No, in fact more than quite good. Pretty damned good.

And for some obscure reason Gus knows the refrain for each of the verses, so as they’d get to the end of the verse….Earlie in the Morning!...they'd all look at Gus expectantly and then he’d sing out the next refrain…..Put him in the bed with the Captain’s Daughter!…and they’d all cheer and aaarrgh!! like pirates, and start singing the next verse.

And so on and so on.

It makes me smile now just thinking about it.

Black Out

When you spend as much time in the pub as we do it’s rare that anything particularly different happens, but last night there was a power cut. Just in the Taps.

And it was great. Well, I say great, but pleasant is probably more accurate.

There was just myself, Adam, Gerry and Peter drinking and Gareth working – which is to say, no normal people, so we were quite happy to sit in the dark by the faint green glow of the emergency lighting and against the backdrop of the constant beep of the burglar alarm which was in need of some reassurance as to what had happened, drinking and talking.

It had something of the air of the blitz about it.

Which is not to say that we were stoically enduring the nightly murderous bombing and vindictive mayhem of the might of the Third Reich, but that we had no lighting or power and….well….

Well, actually that was it.

That and the one brief slightly unsuccessful (though really quite gently moving) rendition of 'We'll Meet Again'

But, as I said, it was pleasant and different and I’ll remember it for some little while at least.

Getting Along

It’s possible that I may have unintentionally given the wrong impression vis a vis the inter relationships and interactions between the regulars in the Taps.

For a variety of reasons, I realise that I undoubtedly idealise the place, so I'm quite worried that I might be appearing to be saying that the Taps is a glittering magical world filled all the day long with harmony, goodwill and whimsical local charm. Which is not to say that that sometimes it’s not contemporaneously all of those things, but that for the most part it’s rarely more than one out of three of those.

And sometimes just a half of one.

The simple fact is that the Taps – like any community – is populated by a mixed bag of characters. Some stupid, some bullies, some conceited, some pretentious, some toxic, some insecure, some…well you get the picture.

And that being the case there are some people who just don’t, won’t and can’t get along. In fact everybody – at any one time – will not be getting along with at least one other person.

Speaking honestly, there are several people who I genuinely don’t like and I’m quite sure that they don’t like me. But here’s the thing: you learn to come to an accommodation. You learn to co-exist and tolerate one another, because that’s what a pub is.  

And I think it’s an important point. Learning to get along with people in a pub environment is a skill set which (seemingly along with the ability to say please and thank you and the ability not to confuse a urinal for the glasses tray) is something you can’t learn by drinking in a Wetherspoons, or the George or (God forbid) Ratlers. It’s something you learn by starting your drinking life in a decent local pub.

  

What Is a Regular?

It’s undoubtedly a tautology but the obvious answer to the question of what is a regular is that a regular is somebody who the other regulars consider to be a regular.

So there you are, now you know. Succinct, logical, simple, obvious and completely unhelpful. In other words just a rephrasing of Potter Stewart’s pithy definition of pornography.

So let’s try and be a little more logical about this then shall we. (And bearing in mind that I intend this to be entirely descriptive rather than prescriptive) a regular is (in some combination of the below) someone who:

1. The bar staff know what they drink.

2. The bar staff know their name.

3. The other regulars (defined as those who have met this llisted criteria) know their name [or at least use a common and consistent name for them. – There used to be a bloke who drank in the Taps who was universally known as SteveDave. This was because when he first started to regularly come to the Taps he wouldn’t really talk to anyone. However, he was there often enough to warrant some sort of description and so somebody decided that he looked vaguely like a Dave. For some reason the name stuck and as he underwent the gradual process of becoming a regular everyone just called him Dave. And for whatever reason (and I’ve never really understood this) he answered to it and would even introduce himself as Dave. After a while – once he became a full blown regular – he let it be known that his name wasn’t actually Dave but was Steve, but since Dave had now stuck he was just always called SteveDave from that time onwards. – The point being that people don’t have to know your actual name for you to be a regular].

4. Comes in at least three times a week (and sits wherever they want).

5. Comes in at least once a week, sits at the bar and talks to people.

6. Comes in once a week (mainly without fail) on a particular midweek day/evening for a year.

7. At one point did some or all or most of the above, but now only occasionally (for whatever reason – other than defecting to another local pub) comes in.

8. Just gets involved with the pub.

And the last is the most important. A regular is somebody who is involved in the day to day life of the pub.

As always, guys, I look forward to your thoughts.

Clique

An old friend of mine came to the pub on Saturday (he’s been in a few times since the World Cup, which was his first visit to the Taps), and spent most of the day there.

Now, my mate’s spent more than enough time in pubs over the years to be a pretty fair judge of them, and he observed (apropos of nothing as it happens) that the Taps was really quite a tightly knit pub (which it is) and that because of that it was actually quite cliquey.

My initial reaction was to dismiss that as rot and balderdash (well it wasn’t actually; in fact I’m not entirely sure what rot and balderdash is – but I was quite offended and taken aback by his comments), but you’ve got to be realistic about these things haven’t you, and on reflection there’s probably some truth to what he said.

Now my friend’s a decent and reasonably clever chap who’s spent many years in all kind of pubs, and he noted that every time he came in there was very much a feeling of conversations stopping and of every eye turning to the door to see who the random unwanted guest was. Which he found to be slightly uncomfortable.

And to be fair there probably is some truth to that.

The Taps – for all that it’s supposed to be a bar – is very much a traditional regulars’ pub (at least during the week and Saturday and Sunday day time). Everybody knows everybody. Everybody knows everyone else’s business, and I like to think that  for the most part everybody cares (to greater and lesser extents) about every one else. And while I like to think that as a group of regulars we are welcoming, let’s be honest, we’re not always. In fact it’s rare that we are.

And even when we are, we’re only welcoming on our own terms.   

We’re just not a hugely tolerant lot are we? I mean, I keep banging on about how the pub is a community and how we need to care about one another, but isn’t what I really mean: we’re a community as long as you fit in and we like you.

I mean don’t dare be a bit odd or boring or stupid because then I know that personally I’m not quite so hospitable at all. In fact I’ll say it: I’m just a hypocrite.

The strength of the pub – that social club/living room feeling, is also its weakness: the fact that it is exclusionary and cliquey. People have to work damned hard to be accepted – unless they’re an exceptionally likeable person (which some people in the last year or so have been). Maybe too hard.

So while we’re not what the Australians would call a Fit In or Fuck Off pub there is an element of ‘be interesting or, although we’ll be polite, we’ll mainly ignore you’, which is possibly just as bad.

I suspect that I haven’t been as clear as I possibly could be here. And that’s mainly because I’m not entirely sure what I mean at this point.

Anyway, as always I look forward to your thoughts.

Why Would You Do That? #1

On Friday I was in the toilets and I saw a bloke bring his drink down with him [this happens more often than you would think, and frankly I find it a bit odd (and nasty), but I suppose that if you’re by yourself you might be worried about somebody nicking it or putting something in it I suppose].

Anyway, this guy puts his drink on top of the trough, starts having a piss and then half way through picks up his drink and finishes it.

So far so pretty disgusting, right? I mean just in itself why would you want to do that?

So this guy finishes his drink, puts his empty glass in the urinal, zips himself up, looks at himself in the mirror and walks out.

In. The. Fucking. Urinal.

Where the hell do these people come from. On what plane of existence have they come from where that’s a reasonable thing to do?

And the worst thing was that he had this stupid shit eating grin on his face, as though he was pleased about what he'd done. Fucking pleased. Like he'd done everyone a favour and that was exactly where you're supposed to put it.

Why would you do that?

Please and Thank You

Thursday – which, as it happens, is karaoke night - has long been held by the regulars to be the best night in the Taps.

The karaoke is mainly incidental, save that people who regularly (and there is quite a regular Thursday crowd) go to karaoke generally seem to be a nice lot. It’s mainly the fact that it’s almost the weekend and that over time a tradition has developed that Thursday is a drinking night (Friday morning work hangover be damned). The karaoke is therefore mainly mostly a distraction for those so inclined.

Basically Thursdays are Fridays without the awesome crowds of scum and villainy that you get on a Friday.

My point being: I like Thursdays. We all like Thursdays. Thursdays are Fridays for the regulars and semi-regulars.

Except of course when it’s pay week or when there’s a Friday Bank Holiday. Then Thursday is a Friday.

[Got it?]

So, yesterday (Thursday, which was a Friday) I was at the bar watching the scum [now I should make clear that obviously not all random people are scum. Most of them are just normal decent people who fancy a mid week drink after getting paid. I like them. They're nice. I approve of their discerning tatste in choosing to drink in such a fine drinking establishment. However, because the Taps is open until 12:30 on a Thursday you also get the George and Ratlers crowd in. Which is another way of saying: massive scum] ordering their drinks, and I was genuinely shocked to see how many of them (and these were all without fail men under 23 or so) just flat out refused to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ when doing so.

Seriously, when did it become ok to not say please or thank you when you’re talking to the bar staff?

Surely the efficiency saving involved in barking ‘two pints of Strongbow’ and then turning away to talk to your mate, is not so great compared to, for example, saying, ‘Hi [or some variation upon], can I have two pints of Strongbow, please?’ And then turning away to talk to your mate, that you would forego such basic courtesy.

How is that there are people on this planet who don't know that when their drink/change comes they're supposed to smile and say thank you.

In fact don’t smile if you don’t want to. Hey, sometimes you don’t want to smile. Who wants to smile all the time anyway. Certainly not me. I don't want to suborn anyone in to feigning emotion. I'm no more comfortable with that than you are. But come on guys, do say thank you. Or cheers or whatever. I’d venture that sometimes just a small sincere smile would even suffice.

Anyway, so I was at the bar talking to my brother and I just couldn’t work how, as a society, we’ve come to this. How we’ve got people – adults – running around the country who don’t know that they’re supposed to say please and thank you. How can they possibly have been raised so badly, so negligently, so sadly, that basic social courtesies are beyond them.

These are people cut off from the basic simple joy of being pleasant to another human being. Of another human being – a stranger – being nice to you.

How did this happen?

Well, as I say, I was talking to my brother and he argued that it was actually deliberate. Which is to say that these people understood that they should say please and thank you, and that indeed these people’s naturally inclination would be to say please and thank you, but that they were actively making the decision not to do so.

Sounds implausible right?

But here’s his reasoning. He reckons that it’s some sort of macho ‘look at how cool I am, I can get served without saying please or thank you’ thing.

No, really, apparently this is the reason. They think it makes them look cool in front of their friends to treat other human beings like crap. Or rather, it does make them look cool in the eyes of their friends to that.

Totally mental right? I mean there are a whole section of people with a completely different set of behavioural norms to our own.

Now, as I say this is my brother’s theory. Personally I think they’ve just been failed by the people who were supposed to be bringing them up, and it’s just that they don’t know how to interact with normal people.

Or that they’re just scum.

Either way though, let’s not stand for it. Let’s just not. If you’re sat at the bar, and you see/hear someone do it, just politely ask them whether they meant to say please and thank you.

Be nice about it.

Be friendly.

Choose your moment and don't get yourself beaten up.

And, if you’re bar staff and it happens to you don’t acknowledge them. Walk away and serve someone else and then come back, and if they do the same thing again well then walk away again.

We can either help these people or we can condemn them to a life of scum and villainy. Let's make a difference.