Dying For a Pint?
As any true Englishman will tell you, drinking is in our blood. It’s part of our culture, and spending all day in the pub every weekend is a tradition that dates all the way back to the Middle Ages when it was more sensible to drink Carling Black Label than ditchwater.
And so it was particularly difficult for some of us here in Blighty during the recent Coronavirus lockdown – with no access to the local hostelry for 3+ months.
This changed recently, however, with the recent easing of restrictions in the UK – allowing British barflies back to the place they consider home; the boozer.
This monumental event took place on 4th July and was dubbed “Super Saturday“. As expected, many thirsty Brits couldn’t wait to rush back to the pub – despite the “R rate” being only slightly below 1 and the inherent risk of catching COVID-19 still a very real threat. A bit like people who spend their holidays potholing or going on guided tours of nuclear reactors in Chernobyl.
You’re probably wondering now if I was among the legion of intrepid alcoholics – queuing up in their hordes in anticipation of a delicious, thirst-quenching beverage cometh the great day?
Well, sadly not.
I wisely decided to wait 7 days to see if millions dropped down dead before venturing back to my local Wetherspoon.
Of course I took sensible precautions; in addition to the compulsory hand sanitising procedure upon entering and social distancing at the bar – I only stayed for one drink and I arrived at 10am when I thought the place would be quiet.
I was a little disappointed to find the staff were not dressed at surgeons on the way into an operating theatre, and I was not asked to provide any contact details for “Track & Trace” (so it was a waste of my time going to so much effort to memorise that phoney name and fake address in advance).
I had good reason to celebrate as it was Flying Ant Day (my favourite day of the year), and after spending more than 3 months living in isolation, it made a nice change to sit in a room full of other peoples’ farts for half hour.
If you are not a brave soul like myself, and you feel the time is not right to return to the pub yet – don’t worry – you can recreate that Wetherspoon experience in the comfort of you own home by drinking a warm, watered-down beer out of a dirty glass whilst staring at your piss-stained carpet and not listening to any music.
See you at the bar!
Categories:Funny, London Life, Woe
This is a personal website and the views expressed here are my own (or stolen from other people down the pub). Facts may not be accurate, or could be poorly paraphrased gags borrowed from proper writers - or simply, outright lies.