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.
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
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].
[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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
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.
Monday, 21 February 2011
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)
Friday, 18 February 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, 17 February 2011
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"...
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