Different filters, old age and experience

There are many things that tell us were old, they exist from out teenage years onwards. One that occurred to me this weekend was acceptance of a bachelor life. I had a lovely dinner with friends on Friday evening which started with drinks in the bar. As I sat, facing the restaurant, I was regaled with stories of the women passing outside. Two couples were watching the window and commentating on Friday night ‘talent’, I was wondering if the ice bucket was broken.

Many years ago (well I’m old) I worked in a nightclub, attached to a pub and run by a couple. As a young man I was frequently astounded by the old man turning down salacious assaults by pretty young ladies. The various attempts to solicit employment, drinks, free entry were rejected out of hand because he was married. I knew that as a couple they didn’t particularly get on and to a young man he seemed to be throwing away ready opportunities for fun.

On one occasion he must have seen the look on my face and patiently explained to me that there were two types of publican. There were the publicans with the more mature, hardened wife and the ones with the younger more attractive models. The key point was that in the first example the bodies remained buried whereas in the second silence had been purchased. He told me that every time you saw a younger wife you were seeing an unsuccessful businessman, having had to buy his way out of the first wife.

Whilst this only really works for lifelong publicans it is certainly true. I know of many that have changed wives in the licensed trade, all have had to mortgage property to escape. The trouble with such a public existence is that bitter ex partners can actually cost more than gold plated divorces. This is why I am confident that I am now sufficiently mature to have my pub, I no longer see a bar full of young women as anything other than a run on RTDs* and a late night.

But this is not an age thing, it doesn’t equate to a birthday or a numerical measure of age. This is experience or psychological because it doesn’t hit us all at the same age and some it seems to never hit at all. Yesterday I saw an old mate in the pub who I have not seen for a while. From when I first came to this town this was my number one barmaid, a gorgeous girl with a fantastic character just made for the role. I maintain that I will offer her the first barmaids job in my future pub although I don’t think the commute is viable!

Long lost mate hugs exchanged we talked of kids and pubs and I refused (as always) to dance. When I looked over I caught the look on a few of the older men in the pub who were merrily contemplating my ‘prospects’. I didn’t bother to explain, their view of the world is simply different to mine, I like to think I’ve grown up!

*ready to drink, those colourful and pointless alcohol delivery systems favoured of the young

Moving crowds and odd breakfasts

Hotels, especially large ones, are oddly transitional in the evening. Unlike a pub, where people drift through, hotel bars have distinct waves. This is never more noticeable than on a nice summers day, hence the post today. For those of us that return in the afternoon there is the afternoon tea crowd to greet us after work. They will be nursing a careful half, keeping their mind on business although occasionally there will be a partner swallowing in volume. Your afternoon crowd you see are using the space for meetings or, occasionally, ladies that lunch. There is a purpose to afternoons in a hotel.

These people get slowly displaced by the ‘couple on the way home’ crowd that inhabit the late afternoon. These are the people that meet up on route home, the hotel a convenient motorway junction. The late afternoon crowd have to tread carefully, timing is key, if they stay too late they get drawn into the later evening crowd and all is lost. There is the meet up for dinner crowd, a couple of drinks with dinner invariably preceded by a soda water. The early diners are the meeting delegates or casual acquaintances, watching the rounds and scoring each drink brought.

Then there is the residents, the beer poured before you ask crowd. Make no mistake this is our bar, it is us that knows who to ask for what and when. The bad day crowd that stride from entrance straight into the arms of stella. We are the industrial drivers, the powerhouse driving the economy. Oh and we know there is no hot water in room 282. We survive all others, this is our pub not just a bar, we know the people, the rules and the story of the bar because this is our home.

Honourable mention to one other, unique, representative of our culture. To the man in the red top I say, you sir are a legend. Want to know why? At 06:00 he was smoking outside with a glass of champagne. That boy knows how to party, peanuts and a bottle of bubbly, is there any better way to start the day