Tag: pub

An Actual Pint

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

I was going to talk about the football this evening but it was such an absolute shambles of a shit show of a result I would rather not. I’ve felt a bit hungover today and the players played as if they too went to the pub last night for the first time in five months. So I went to the pub for the first time in five months last night then. I didn’t get there until about ten o’clock after I finished work and it was already a little quieter. We sat outside in the beer garden although went inside to order a pint. Had we been earlier we would probably have had to sign in and give some details but by the time we got there it was too late and all the staff appeared shit faced enough not to care. That’s probably not very reassuring lets be honest. I’ll keep an eye on any coughs that develop.

After the first pint I started really enjoying being back in that environment. At first it felt like a slight anti-climax, but thankfully that passed. I had really wanted a pint at some point probably in May but that too passed and I didn’t really give a shit. The idea was to let the idiots all go back first and if everything appeared alright after a while, to cautiously venture in. I kind of did that, probably went back a little earlier than previously planned. In truth though I do enjoy a pub, the feel of a pint of freshly poured beer somehow always tastes better than drinking a can on the sofa. I imagine I’m not the only person out there who started to find that a little tedious.

And that’s that done now. One step closer to what we normally call normality. Maybe this is the new normal the politicians like to refer to. Such a disconcertingly ominous phrase for anyone who’s ever felt slightly paranoid about the potentially sadistic desires of their government. With this mob anything is possible, thankfully an implosion seems more likely but they’ll probably still try to ride out any wave that comes their way. So the new normal it is then. Suspect it’ll just be whatever I decide as usual. At least it was nice to get a pint in me on the way. I also made a barbecue on a wheel barrow today, I enjoyed that, I do enjoy making fire.

A Strava Wanker & A Pint

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Something remarkable happened to me today. Firstly I promise I’ll never become an exercise wanker, apparently they’re called Strava Wankers in honour of an app that allows you to record your run and post it online for all your friends to see how great you are. I admit I do have the app but it allows me to take the piss out of my friend when I run faster than him which probably makes me a hypocrite in some way. Anyway the point before I went off on one, twice, was that something remarkable happened today. While running I stopped hating everything about existence in that moment, usually the twenty five minutes worth of moments I run for, and found myself looking up and around myself at the sun and the fields, and realised I was actually enjoying myself. I felt that happy feeling I’ve heard people get from exercise. Apparently it’s not all about pain, suffering and just wishing you could either walk or magically be at the end of the run or life. It’s possible but I might actually get something from this exercise thing other than competitive pride sores on my feet and ego.

What my ego doesn’t like though is the realisation that I am not unique. I’m thirty-four and I’ve taken up exercise. It makes me want to vomit. I was cool once. Soon I’ll be wearing lycra and high vis jackets, and leaning against the bar in country pubs on a Sunday talking too loudly about the incredible milage I’ve just done on my super duppa bike. Well I probably won’t but I never thought I would take up exercise either. I must say though that I really can’t wait for the pubs to be open, to just drink a nice pint in a beer garden or in a nice cosy corner by a fireplace. Chat a little shit with people and stumble out into the night air. The worst thing is I can’t see this happening until the end of the summer just in time for rain and cold dark nights. Fireplace it is then. Maybe someone can create Strava for drinkers although I can’t possibly think how quickly we would get distracted from it and move on to being interesting again. Interesting in that drunken and barely interesting kind of way but you’re drunk so you don’t give a shit. I’m hardly in quarantine, I still work and while some things have changed not a great deal has; but my god I hope this bloody thing ends soon. I’ve just about had enough of it now. I want a pint.

So Very Thirsty These Days

Hamar Williams1 Comment

I think I’m evolving into one of those people who drinks a little every evening after work. Socially acceptable middle class alcoholism or something like that. When I get in from making pizzas I really enjoy a couple of beers. I takes the edge off lets say. Thankfully I only make pizzas three days a week but I’m aware of that craving for a drink and how much of a habit it becomes to feel it and then satiate it. Saying that in the grand scheme of things I’m probably drinking less over all than if I went to the pub and had a drinking session. Admittedly these don’t really seem to happen a great deal anymore but still the point remains.

Why do I feel like it’s something I shouldn’t be doing then. Is drinking two or three beers on my own when I get in somehow socially unacceptable now. Should I be ashamed of doing this. Why do I feel I need to be sneaky about it, although I’m obviously not, there’s certainly something that makes me want to keep it hidden. Have societies pressures finally got to me. If I had a girlfriend or flat mate it would be acceptable to come back and have a couple of drinks, so being a solitary drinker of two drinks is the issue. I genuinely don’t know what makes me feel like this is something I shouldn’t be doing. I used to be wild – says every thirty-four year old ever – and now I’m experiencing these thoughts and emotions about something so normal. Strange times.

But it would be wrong to mention this desire for a drink without raising awareness of addiction. In this case sugar addiction. I’m not saying alcoholism isn’t a very real thing but having observed that feeling of desire and necessity I have noticed that sometimes I crave alcohol in times when I’m also craving something sweet. If I give up the sugar for a week lets say, I very quickly lose interest in having a drink and it is undeniable the two are related. Anyone who has ever said “Oh I really needed that” after taking that first large gulp of their pint is feeding some addiction somewhere and it would be foolish to deny the existence of sugar in beer. People know and acknowledge the issue with sugar in alcoholic drinks but rarely do they seem to relate the connection between sugar addiction and alcohol consumption. Let’s see how this evolves in these changing times.

When Will Saturday Come

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It’s Saturday. Thought I would stumble out of bed a little hung over, not too much, just a enough to create edge. Have my breakfast which is more relaxed than the mid week one but fundamentally the same, I leave the dirty sexy breakfast for a Sunday. While eating plan all the semi-productive things I would like to accomplish for the day before leaving for the supermarket, ticking that off the list but being exhausted enough upon return that the list get scrumpled up and thrown in the fire which I made to sit in front of feeling like a wild man as the football results come in. Secretly I’ve quite enjoyed this lockdown, mainly because I’ve not really been locked down I imagine, but there are certain old habits and routines I miss. I enjoyed those semi-busy Saturdays. I long for the return of the football. And I’m currently not in the same house as the fireplace unfortunately. If that all sounds hard then don’t even get me started on the pleasures of a Sunday morning drinking coffee and reading the newspapers as my dog sits beside me and I’m surrounded by countryside. It’s pointless longing for things we cannot have but it’s good to be able to see the things we really value when they’re not there. I quite fancy a pint as well. Don’t give a shit about much us though. Although a holiday would be nice.

I miss my dog. She lives with may parents these days which is good for her because they live in the countryside and it forces them to go on walks everyday. People don’t appreciate the value of pets I don’t think. I can’t see her at the moment though because while I deliver food to my parents, I don’t let her see me because I won’t be staying and she won’t understand why I’m leaving so quickly after coming back. Poor girl. Poor me too. There are going to be some parties when this is all done. It’ll be a while until the pubs are open I reckon and people will be warned off getting together too much too soon but lets be honest, folk are going to go wild. We’re like school children at the best of times let alone when we’ve been stuck inside, away from everyone, sober and being healthy for what must feel like an eternity. I can’t wait for the outcry from the media, front pages of people having fun. Probably the same papers which will be a week earlier pushing for the end of restrictions. Theres nothing like a short memory.

I’m tired today. I was woken up early and now I need to go to work. I’m attempting to write this early now instead of tonight when I get in. It’s strange, sometimes late at night I get my best ideas. Maybe I should give up on being a morning person and accept life as a night owl. They usually seem happy. A little white and sickly maybe, but happy enough. But not tonight, this is certainly not going to be an old Saturday night. When I’m tucked up in my bed before midnight I guarantee there’ll be no nostalgia from me. I love you all. I’ll see you tomorrow. Fresh, awake, invigorated, just like an awful morning person should be.

An Undignified Tip

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I had an interesting revelation last night in the pub. It involved tipping. Now different countries have different rules towards tips or cultural approaches shall we say. The American version probably more well known than most. The Yankee gods of capitalism have created a system in which you are guilted into paying half the waiters wage on top of the meal or drink you’ve just ordered as you know they’ll be paid nothing otherwise. In parts of Asia tips are not part of the culture, I’ll never forget the two Canadian guys throwing tips around in Burma despite it being culturally not a done thing and then wondering why they were being over charged for other things. Mediterranean cultures vary but usually you leave a few coins as you feel. In Spain during the Civil War the anarchist trade union the CNT banned the use of tips and I never fully grasped the significance behind that until last night.

The barman in this little village pub was probably in his fifties, went about his job without any fuss and certainly without flair in line arguably with the pub itself. Happy hour had finished fifteen minutes earlier but he decided anyway to give me the happy prices for the two pints, which he didn’t need to but went out of his way to do anyway. From the coins I gave him I was due fifty pence back in change but I found this issue of whether I should let him keep it as thanks for the prices a difficult one. He was a man and I was a man, but it was more that we were two blokes, by tipping him it would demean him, and there seemed to just be something unspoken that this would be an affront to his dignity. Certainly the village pub atmosphere played a part, but I may have given a woman or younger man the change in that situation. It is also possible that it was purely this guy in particular and the energy that he gave off but it allowed for an experience and understanding that was original and unique for me.

There is something about the word undignified that makes me uneasy, it seems somehow snobbish and pretencious, but there is something about being tip hungry that seems fitting for such a word. Of course anyone, including myself, who has worked in hospitality will have at some point sniffed out a tip. As I said though I don’t care much for dignity, I’ve never lacked the version that without would dehumanise and subjugate, and have never allowed pride to prevent me acting as I feel, unless I’m too proud to admit it now of course. In Republican Barcelona people were achieving self-determination breaking the bonds of a previous life without dignity. To accept tips would have been to accept your position as a second class citizens in a hierarchical society again. The village pub in northumberland is not anarchist antifascist civil war Spain and this isn’t about proud dignity either. Times have moved on from then but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn a little from the past and see how it can relate to the present; man to man et al.