They sell craft beer: How to convince yourself Wetherspoons is fine now

WETHERSPOONS is reporting record profits after attracting customers struggling with the cost of living. Here’s how to convince yourself it’s a great place to drink:

They sell craft beer

Wetherspoons used to only sell piss like Fosters and farty real ale such as Ruddles, but now they’ve got craft beers including Brewdog’s Punk IPA on tap. Which is essentially piss for hipsters, but at least it allows you to feel slightly less like a borderline alcoholic who’ll drink anything if it costs less than four quid.

They’re saving architectural gems

The old cinema in the town centre looked set for demolition after bingo went out of fashion, but Wetherspoons stepped in and saved it. Okay, so they gutted the inside and filled it with horrible carpets, crappy furniture and a collection of the area’s most underemployed, frightening residents, but it still allows you to pretend you’re there for the architecture rather than the £3.59 fry up.

No music is actually a good thing

People deride Wetherspoons pubs for being big, soulless barns with zero atmosphere, but the silence is actually quite zen. Buddhists and mindfulness types pay good money to be able to sit in quiet, meditative spaces for long periods. Yeah, they don’t usually have to put up with a strange bloke called Derek having occasional loud rants about bloody immigrants, but it’s basically the same spiritual journey of self-discovery.

That prick Tim Martin has learnt his lesson

Look, we all know Tim Martin is a bellend who shafted his staff during Covid, but he’s been shat on by Brexit, which he helped promote and must have learned his lesson by now, so you don’t see the need to boycott his pubs anymore. No, don’t mention he’s still in a typical Brexiter state of denial that leaving the EU has f**ked the economy. Shh. Stop talking.

Look, it’s f**king cheap, alright?

Okay, fine, we admit your local Wetherspoons is a miserable hellhole full of bad food, worse drinks and depressed people. But you can get hammered for less than £20 there, which you can’t do anywhere else except at home. So you’re going to keep coming. Who fancies a quick pint or nine?

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Your friend's DJ profile: The shit pages everyone's stopped liking on Facebook

THE early days of Facebook were filled with people frantically inviting you to like pages they’d set up for any old shit. Enjoy the fact that you’re no longer wasting your life with these:

Ironic event days

‘World Ketchup Day’, ‘Danny Dyer Appreciation Day’, ‘The Annual Ham Fan Jamboree’ – all desperate attempts to be funny, liked by undiscerning idiots like you. Now you steer clear of this nonsense, using Facebook solely to check birthdays and find out how racist your uncle is these days.

Your friend’s DJ profile

A mate who is also a twat bought some turntables and suffers an ongoing delusion that he’s going to be the new Calvin Harris. Years ago, hundreds of people would’ve been fooled into accepting this prick’s invitation to like his page. But now his heinous remixes of Eminem B-sides with Baby Shark will be heard by no one. It sounds sad but it’s not.

A local club night

Once the promise of one free Jägerbomb was enough to make you like a local club night called something bollocks like ‘Vapour Hunk’. Strangely everyone got sick of their newsfeeds being filled with photos of random hammered students and posts announcing whatever tragic Big Brother contestant was ‘guest DJ’. Remember Lee Davey? No? That’s good.

Your friends’ doomed personal projects

Your friends wanted you to like and spread the word about some project that was clearly going to suck up time and effort before promptly failing. No longer do you encourage their fantasy that a comedy night in a pub in a tiny rural town will be a success, or their terrible short film will lead to riches and coke in LA. At least their shit-boring charity runs and cycle rides benefited someone other than them.

Obscure X Factor contestants

Before anyone really understood how social media worked, you trawled through Facebook like a confused nan finding whatever contestant on The X Factor you happened to fancy that year, and liked their page thinking that it would somehow help their career. The show gradually outstayed its welcome and now you have absolutely no f**king clue who or what ‘Fleur East’ is.

Actor fan pages

If you step back and think about it, what did anyone gain from you liking a Jeff Goldblum fan page? Jeff got nothing out of it, and at best you’d see the occasional piece of deranged erotic fan art. No one touches these anymore, and Jeff Goldblum’s career hasn’t suffered. In fact he’s probably glad not to be pictured making love to Sam Neill.