OUR ERROR-strewn, well-intentioned but bumbling response to the Coronavirus pan(dem)ic has threatened the very survival of that cherished ancient British institution, the pub, and with it, as a corollary victim, Real Ale.
I set about surveying how the pub trade might recover on the 4th July lockdown easing, which lifted the ban on boozers, in England anyway. I observed a pitiful picture of a largely enfeebled pub trade making only very tentative efforts to resuscitate their businesses, if they bothered to open at all.
I’d estimate more than half the pubs in London and north Kent have kept their doors firmly shut. Those tip-toeing back into existence have imposed a myriad of rules to bamboozle beer-drinkers.
Many small pubs allowed only “local regulars” inside. Bigger pubs barred passing punters – requiring “tables” be booked in advance. Some refused cash, others refused cards. All of them I managed to enter insisted on signing a Register, with name, address and Mobile number and a text message to their number to verify your details. This is apparently for track and trace, but it’s also a big breach of privacy.
Most bar areas had been cleared of all furniture, with plastic shielding of bar staff, all decked in full PPE. All had one-way directional systems with only one way in, one point to order and pay, one to collect, then arrows to seating areas, and finally to the only other door, the exit.
What with no music, restricted opening hours, limited food menus (low staff and supplies), and often no real ale (breweries didn’t get the time to make and deliver their beers, and all the old pre-lockdown stock had been poured down the drain….literally).
The stand-out feature I spotted was One-In/One-Out toilet visits. I went into one Shepherd Neame boozer and the Mens’ stand-up urinals were taped off, like the scene-of-crime. Oh well, I thought, at least I won’t be in danger of being sprayed with piss by a careless or incontinent neighbour at the urinals.
However being forced into a pub Mens’ bog sit-down cubicle is a far crueller fate, to be avoided like the plague. Floors can be a sea of piss, used bog roll is scattered everywhere except the toilet bowl, foul turds linger in the bowl, the flush is bust, the seat covered in cigarette burns, suspicious stains, and potentially painful cracks, the lock has been removed, and the stench is revolting.
And now I must enter one of these vile vestibules whatever my toilet needs. I have wondered if Ladies’ cubicles get into this state. Surely not. There are some pubs who battle to keep their bogs clean, particularly the JD Wetherspoon chain.
Then it struck me – this post-Covid One-In/One-Out Toilet Rule will have one benefit – it removes the danger of some bibulous stranger pissing everywhere and splattering you whilst trying to start up a conversation at a urinal.
The really desperate toilet talk-terrorists can even try to have a chat with you from inside their cubicle which they have intentionally chosen next to yours in breach of Mens’ Bogs Supreme Principle – never use a urinal stall or sit-down cubicle immediately next to one in use, unless there is no choice – interspersed with farts, turd-drop ripples, and rectal squeeze groaning.
Thanks to Coronavirus, there’s now no risk of having your micturation and defecation efforts spoiled by some awful bloke wanting to crank up a shit-chat.
I’ll drink to that, Coronavirus