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Let's hope it's not closing time for the traditional pub Let's hope it's not closing time for the traditional pub
(21 days later)
Everyone's got a local. Maybe yours is a preternaturally flammable drinker in Walford. Or a flock-lined museum-piece in Weatherfield that looks as if it might smell of hotpot. Perhaps you favour a basement sports bar in downtown Boston. Maybe everybody doesn't know your name there, but you know all of theirs. The pub as a community hub is, increasingly, more TV scriptwriter's conceit than reality.Everyone's got a local. Maybe yours is a preternaturally flammable drinker in Walford. Or a flock-lined museum-piece in Weatherfield that looks as if it might smell of hotpot. Perhaps you favour a basement sports bar in downtown Boston. Maybe everybody doesn't know your name there, but you know all of theirs. The pub as a community hub is, increasingly, more TV scriptwriter's conceit than reality.
Staying in and drinking a six-pack you bought from the supermarket – or a very drinkable chablis you picked up at one of the dwindling number of specialist off-licences – is the new going out. At least everybody knows your name in your front room. Somewhere in the region of 4,000 of the UK's 50,000 pubs will call time for the last time this year. The bald truth is, if more of us went to them, they wouldn't have to.Staying in and drinking a six-pack you bought from the supermarket – or a very drinkable chablis you picked up at one of the dwindling number of specialist off-licences – is the new going out. At least everybody knows your name in your front room. Somewhere in the region of 4,000 of the UK's 50,000 pubs will call time for the last time this year. The bald truth is, if more of us went to them, they wouldn't have to.
I spoke to John Stapleton, organiser of the Strongroom beer festival in London's East End about the decline of those traditional boozers that we all remember from television, if not from life. He pointed to the tactics of pubcos such as Enterprise and Punch who keep landlords working to narrow margins. With profits critical, licensees dare not try anything too innovative. The result is pubs offering perfectly reasonable fare but very little of the kind of character that fosters a long-term clientele.I spoke to John Stapleton, organiser of the Strongroom beer festival in London's East End about the decline of those traditional boozers that we all remember from television, if not from life. He pointed to the tactics of pubcos such as Enterprise and Punch who keep landlords working to narrow margins. With profits critical, licensees dare not try anything too innovative. The result is pubs offering perfectly reasonable fare but very little of the kind of character that fosters a long-term clientele.
If new fixtures and fittings come in, they're selected for a sort of studied shabby-genteel quality. One that suggests that somewhere there's a gigantic warehouse containing thousands of artfully worn tables and carefully-mismatched lampshades. Like at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, only with pub stuff.If new fixtures and fittings come in, they're selected for a sort of studied shabby-genteel quality. One that suggests that somewhere there's a gigantic warehouse containing thousands of artfully worn tables and carefully-mismatched lampshades. Like at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, only with pub stuff.
On the upside, there's been a boom in the kind of punky microbreweries that feature in John's beer festivals. In 2008 there were perhaps four breweries in the capital. Today there are close to 50. That same grassroots enthusiasm for craft beers is reflected across the country.On the upside, there's been a boom in the kind of punky microbreweries that feature in John's beer festivals. In 2008 there were perhaps four breweries in the capital. Today there are close to 50. That same grassroots enthusiasm for craft beers is reflected across the country.
Microbreweries find their outlets in smaller, independent establishments rather than chain pubs. Pop-up pubs such as Beer Rebellion in Gipsy Hill. But Amanda Hone, the manager there, has bigger plans. She's negotiating with the giant property group Spirit to re-open the moribund Royal Bell in Bromley as a new breed of pub. One that serves as an art space, a pocket museum, a focus for school trips. A community hub if you will.Microbreweries find their outlets in smaller, independent establishments rather than chain pubs. Pop-up pubs such as Beer Rebellion in Gipsy Hill. But Amanda Hone, the manager there, has bigger plans. She's negotiating with the giant property group Spirit to re-open the moribund Royal Bell in Bromley as a new breed of pub. One that serves as an art space, a pocket museum, a focus for school trips. A community hub if you will.
People like John and Amanda represent the future of pubs. But it'd be nice to think that there's still room somewhere for the past. Pubs where locals are attuned to the peculiar non-Euclidian tricks of the pool table cushions and know which punters like to be left in peace with their pint.People like John and Amanda represent the future of pubs. But it'd be nice to think that there's still room somewhere for the past. Pubs where locals are attuned to the peculiar non-Euclidian tricks of the pool table cushions and know which punters like to be left in peace with their pint.
I spoke to comedian Al Murray, the spiritual leader of all of Britain's pub landlords. What he values most about his local, he told me, is that everyone in it knows him well enough to ignore him. He might be ignored just as thoroughly in one of the new generation of pubs, the booze theme parks with their stage-prop knick-knacks, but it's a different quality of being ignored. Even I know the difference between a quiet pint interrupted only by a courteous nod from the pot man and the sacerdotal silence that means everyone's hammering the free Wi-Fi.I spoke to comedian Al Murray, the spiritual leader of all of Britain's pub landlords. What he values most about his local, he told me, is that everyone in it knows him well enough to ignore him. He might be ignored just as thoroughly in one of the new generation of pubs, the booze theme parks with their stage-prop knick-knacks, but it's a different quality of being ignored. Even I know the difference between a quiet pint interrupted only by a courteous nod from the pot man and the sacerdotal silence that means everyone's hammering the free Wi-Fi.
The 2014 Good Pub Guide estimated that apart from the drip-tray of doomed drinkers there are around 40,000 "average" pubs. They range from straightforward locals to big chains with standardised food and drink offerings. Every one of them will be somebody's local. Every one of them will be mourned by someone if they're turned into a microbrewery or an arts centre. But they'll be missed by many more if they're turned into a Starbucks or a Poundland.The 2014 Good Pub Guide estimated that apart from the drip-tray of doomed drinkers there are around 40,000 "average" pubs. They range from straightforward locals to big chains with standardised food and drink offerings. Every one of them will be somebody's local. Every one of them will be mourned by someone if they're turned into a microbrewery or an arts centre. But they'll be missed by many more if they're turned into a Starbucks or a Poundland.
Yes, it's noisy at chucking-out time. It's true that a minority of pub patrons feel that raucous singing and alfresco micturition are part of the experience. But pubs can, at their best, forge the kind of communities we like to think we belong to. And once they're gone, they're gone for good. It'll be a warm evening. Forget the telly for once. Why not pop out for a small one?Yes, it's noisy at chucking-out time. It's true that a minority of pub patrons feel that raucous singing and alfresco micturition are part of the experience. But pubs can, at their best, forge the kind of communities we like to think we belong to. And once they're gone, they're gone for good. It'll be a warm evening. Forget the telly for once. Why not pop out for a small one?
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