It may seem like we’re doing nothing, but our service is so fast we’re always finished” reads a rather corny, but appropriate sign behind the bar.
“Are your opening hours going to be extended?” I ask the dopey looking barman slowly eking out my pint. I’m in my girlfriend’s local and it’s a typical old man’s pub littered with weathered knickknacks, mismatched wooden chairs and tables and an assortment of drunks hovering over their pints. It is run down, but comfortable; the kind of place you can hold a hazy drunken conversation without it being interrupted by intrusive, glossy waiters and blaring, crap music.
“An extension?” he asks lethargically.
“Yes, with the new drink licensing law that kicks in this month. You know, where pubs can apply to serve booze past the 11pm curfew?” Years of pent up frustration make my voice quiver.
He shouts across the bar and asks a red-eyed, overweight woman who is having a leery conversation with a short, bald man. I gauge that they are the husband and wife owner. They are both very drunk.
Happily I skip back from the bar — appearing at our table like an apparition through dense clouds of smoke — and announce that over the weekends we will be able to drink till TWO in the morning. This is good news and we take a few sips of our golden, frosty brew and inwardly smile at the promise of a future where the tyranny of the last orders bell is dead and buried.
“DRINK UP NOW AND GET OUT!” the owner-man aggressively shouts.
It’s okay, we’ve just ordered these drinks and the nice man and the nice woman will surely let us finish our beers? We did pay for them after all. After five minutes of silence we slip into a false sense of security.
“C*NTS… GET THE F*CK OUT!” I look up and realise that we are the only punters left and everyone else has vanished along with any remnants of warmth.
After ten more minutes of escalating abuse, I lose my temper. “Why don’t you shut the f*ck up you bitter old bastard?”
This, I now realise, wasn’t a brilliant idea and is a good example of how alcohol can impair your judgement. Alcohol does this to people, especially people who love and take pride in drinking, and that is why a large portion of Britain are scared of the consequences of 24 hour drinking.
Booze Britain
Go out on a Friday or Saturday at 11pm — when drinkers are pushed out of the pubs — and Britain’s ugly secret spills out onto the streets, staggers around for a bit and then, quite often, falls over. Escalating alcohol-related crime and antisocial behaviour figures has resulted in a public backlash against another media-created monster: Binge Drinking.
Statistics currently being peddled about show alcohol-related violent crime has risen by 11 percent and low-level thuggery by 21 percent. A massive increase of ASBOs (Anti Social Behaviour Orders) is another indication of a fevered panic which has gripped the nation.
Nearly 20 percent of the total number of ASBOs were imposed in the three months between July and September 2004. Hooded tops — often sported by delinquents — have been controversially banned in major shopping malls. It is all very extreme and thanks to the sensationalist media machine — terrifying to some. The finger of blame is desperately searching for a target and alcohol is a conspicuous enough mark.
We have found a witch. May we burn her?
The main protagonists — think Monty Python and the witch burning scene — in this war are unsurprisingly middle class conservatives. Again, unsurprisingly, they are against the implementation of the new licensing laws. (74 percent of ‘Sun’ readers voted against 24 hour drinking). Their argument, in short, says longer boozing hours mean more boozing and inevitably complete anarchy and lawlessness on the streets. Possibly Armageddon?
After watching a documentary the other night on drunken youths lying face first on the pavement and being unceremoniously dragged home by their friends, I wondered if these binge drinkers could actually drink anymore.
Goliath falls
Fortunately, the conservatives were defeated in Parliament and on November 24 a 50-year-old archaic establishment is going to crumble to the ground. Grownups will be able to stay out until after 11 and not get chucked out onto the streets with the packs of drunken yobs who are violently throwing their guts up on the pavement and fighting over the three available taxis. History is going to be made and I’m going to celebrate by drinking in a free world.
Old Ale No More
But as I’m shepherded out of my girlfriend’s local pub by the staff (clearly all from the same booze saturated gene pool) and am told never to return, I realise that free world will have to be somewhere else beside the unfortunately convenient Old Ale Emporium…
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