The Pub Experience

I’ve had one of those weeks; it feels like I’ve been swimming against the current to get anywhere or anything done. However, it’s Friday and I’m about to let all of that go, right?

Before I can do that there is the joy of standing outside Oxford Circus for twenty minutes, waiting for the excess of passengers deep below my feet to find their way onto trains. I scowl and blame the ‘Day shoppers’ that have come to see the Christmas lights sponsored by some Disney film: sponsored Christmas lights. I’ll repeat that again until it really sinks in, sponsored Christmas lights. By the time I am stuffed into an over crowded carriage my blood is at actual boiling rate. I cannot help tutting self-righteously as the passenger to my left bangs into me with her swinging bag, repeatedly. I am in near tears of frustration by the time I arrive at the queue for the bus at the other end of my tube ride. A man has decided to serenade us with a flute whilst we wait. Have you ever heard a flute playing alone without an orchestra? There’s a reason for that. It’s like being hit in the ears with an elf.

Feeling pity and also probably wanting to escape the atrocious sound herself, the bus driver opens her doors early and lets us flood onto the bus. Always an occasion noted for its elbows and glares, this particular bus boarding sees people near screaming with relief as they squeeze through the door into the refuge of the dirty London bus. Yes, refuge. With the window between us and my Ipod at full volume I manage to drown out the sound. Relief; the day is almost over. As the bus moves off, a woman sits…I want to say next to me but it’s more like on me. Hey Lady, my child bearing hips were here first. Is it no longer etiquette to sit with one cheek off the chair when faced with a hip duet?

The bus reaches my stop and I hang on for dear life as I descend the stairs whilst simultaneously we turn a corner. Crashing into the passengers at the bottom I squeeze out an apology as I elbow my way to the exit where I am expelled onto the pavement; I look up. In front of me, the reward for this terrible week; the amber glow of a candle lit pub.

Opening the door my muscles instantly begin to relax, as I take a step to move into the bar I catch an obstruction out of the corner of my eye. I look down; there at my feet is not one, not two but three babies, just there, crawling on the welcome rug. I look up in shock and confusion; I am in a pub, right? There’s the bar, with beer pumps and a bar man smiling expectantly. I’m in a pub on Friday night…aren’t I? Please tell me my week is over…

The clock reads 7pm. Three mothers stand by, cooing. “Oh sorry: come on Theodore, let the lady past.” Dazed I walk up to the bar and read the labels of the ales, there’s one called ‘Bitter and twisted’. “I’ll have a pint of ‘Bitter and twisted’ please, unless of course you have ‘My eggs aren’t screaming’ or ‘Unwanted child’?” The bar man looks as though I’ve asked him a difficult maths question, “So you want a pint of Bitter and Twisted?” “Yes please and maybe a side order of No baby?” “What?” “Crisps, salt and vinegar crisps.”

The warmth of a good British ale climbs down my throat and into my heart. Ah…finally…Frid-

WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WAAAAHHHH!

-ay.

Friday, night: in a pub. Three babies; crawling on the floor: of a PUB: screaming, in a pub. A pub, did I mention we are in a pub, on a Friday night? Did I? Did I really? Because there’s three babies; screaming.

I’ve been in this scenario before, on a Sunday lunch and even a Tuesday day. Babies, in the pub, screaming, running, causing misery and chaos in their wake; but this is Friday night. You know, the night where people find the nearest pub, get far too drunk, talk crudely and kiss the first person that looks at them for longer than a second. It’s where the ‘adults’ come to play after PLAYING ACTUAL GROWN UPS WHO PAY THEIR BILLS all week. Why are there babies here? WHY?

I take another sip of the amber liquid. One look around and I see an old man reading a newspaper, wincing – WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! – between the screams as he tries to put letters in an order and read words. There’s the couple not talking to each other, staring at the wailing babies. The woman smiles indulgently whilst the man has a look of pure horror. Rabbit: headlights; she’s seen the baby, SHE HAS SEEN THE BABY AND NOW SHE’S THINKING MARRIAGE. That’s it. That’s the clientele. Me, old man, couple, three babies and three people who were probably women once, maybe friends, maybe wives, it’s really hard to tell anymore. I turn back to the bar man, he is staring at his phone.

WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!

WAAHH WAAAHH WAAHHH!!!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

All three babies begin a chorus of screams; the barman does not look up from his phone. The old man sinks beneath his paper and even the lady half of the non speaking couple is now looking like maybe she doesn’t want a child after all. With a great gust of wind and the familiar crashing sound of a pram struggling through a swing door, I am alerted to the new arrivals. One baby: one toddler: three adults. The toddler is talking excitedly and makes an immediate dive for the stool next to me and starts to climb.

“Careful Lexie” “I want to see up there” “What drink would you like Lexie?” “ORANGE JUICE!” “What do you say?” Pause “Lexie, what do you say to the nice man?” (Who incidentally is still looking at his phone) “Please”, “Good girl”. By now Lexie has successfully climbed onto the stool next to me and has started taking the straws out of the bar caddy, one by one. Seemingly out of nowhere a cheery manager appears carrying a tin of pencils “Would madam like to draw?”

WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

The manager has Lexie set up with paper and pencils at the bar before wandering over to the three screaming babies with a smile on his face; an actual smile. He starts cooing and talking sympathetically to the three mothers, who thankfully appear to be gathering their things.

Lexie has both her elbows out so wide and is wriggling along with the pencil, she almost knocks the beer clean out of my hand. No one seems to notice I am here and this three year old has gotten dangerously inside my ‘personal space’. The old man puts his empty glass onto the bar, we exchange a look. His is World weary and unsurprised, mine is of shock and disbelief. He wanders off into the cold dark night.

WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I drain my glass, it’s 7.20pm. Friday night. With a sense of some bitter and twisted disappointment (that was a really good beer) I pull on my coat and turn to leave. The doors to the pub swing open again. Three beautiful men graced with Movember Moustaches enter, laughing uproariously. “Here mate, three pints of Guinness please”

Removing my coat, I sit back down…after all; it’s been one of those weeks…