THE UK’s pubs are open again. But which day are you down there getting pissed, and what does it say about you?
An early adopter, you’ve been a beer garden fixture for the last month after a lockdown of heavy drinking. You’re wondering why yesterday’s pint didn’t hit differently, and it’s because booze no longer touches the sides and you wouldn’t care if you were slumped by the bins.
You avoided Monday because you didn’t want to seem desperate, and arrive at a bar packed with all the others who didn’t want to seem desperate but like you very definitely are. You’re cautious but extremely thirsty, and will be back again on Thursday.
You refer to pubs as ‘hostelries’, refer to the barman as a ‘stout yeoman’, and booked a meal to convince yourself that you’re there for the atmosphere and company, not the alcohol. Unaccustomed to the pace of public boozing, you will soil yourself and be revealed as the lightweight you are.
Now it’s getting serious. Close enough to the weekend for a hangover to be manageable, you’ve been planning your pub return for months and will fling open the double doors and pause to take the sight in. You’re a planner, love dramatics and will finish the evening with a humiliating scuffle in the car park.
Like a saint, you’ve waited a whole five days until you can get thoroughly hammered without the spectre of work the next day to stay your arm. You are patient, prudent, prone to excess and will wake up lying on a grass verge at 6am with blackbirds pecking your trousers.
You wanted to do this properly and get the full experience. Pints, shots, packets of crisps torn open for the whole table to enjoy, a tenner lost to the fruit machine, fags in the beer garden, chatting up whoever ends up next to you at the bar, a kebab on the way home, a piss in a doorway. You live life to the absolute full. Shame about your asymptomatic Covid.
A lovely lunch? No more than two glasses of wine? Bringing the kids along? People like you should be deported.