A 21st-century ban
In the spirit of historic rules of the inn', Daily Telegraph pubs writer ADAM EDWARDS offers a few new-age suggestions
I have to admit to a grudging admiration for the Barracuda Group. Despite the political climate that has raised the single mum to the status of the Immaculate Conception, the pub chain has introduced written warnings to the solo Ms and her mites that they must eat up and leave within 30 minutes of being served.
The group, which owns 200 pubs and bars throughout the UK, has introduced the ruling to "prevent single mothers getting drunk while their children run riot". A copy of the rules is handed over with the Bacardi Breezers and kiddies' nuggets.
There have always been "rules of the inn". Flintlocks, cudgels, swords and daggers, for example, often had to be handed over to the landlord for safekeeping. There were bans on "thieves, fakirs, rogues, tinkers, skulking loafers and flea-bitten tramps". Spitting, duelling and cock fighting was often forbidden as, naturally, was banging one's pewter tankard on the table.
Over the years many of these rules have disappeared. However, the bold move by Barracuda is an opportunity to introduce a new set of measures. And with that in mind here follows a rough and ready guide to my 21st century "rules of the snug".
a) The following groups, in addition to mums with toddlers, shall be limited to a maximum half-an-hour's drinking: binge-drinkers, coach parties of geriatrics, politicians on the stump, ramblers with or without boots, all-women birthday parties, cyclists in Lycra, wine buffs, teetotallers, vegans and WKD drinkers.
b) Baseball hats may not be worn inside the bar. Furthermore mine host has the right to refuse service to anyone wearing Argos jewellery or a McDonald's T-shirt with the slogan "I'm chaving it".
c) No roll-up shall be longer than three inches or made with more than one Rizla. Mirrors must remain vertical at all times.
d) Rambling poles, nylon rucksacks, cycling helmets, laptops and other offensive objects shall be given to the landlord for safekeeping.
e) Mobile phones that ring with any jingle other than the ring with which they were born must be switched off.
f) Please do not ask for the following as refusal often offends: Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, snakebite, organic ketchup.
g) Water comes from the tap (not a bottle). Cola comes from a bottle (not a bar dispenser). Coffee comes from a café.
h) Dogs are welcome (except bull terriers) providing they are on a lead and do not steal the rights to the hearth that is owned exclusively by the landlord's elderly labrador.
i) Fines of £1 must be paid into the RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution) box if any of the following names are coupled together in the same sentence: Tony and Gordon, Charles and Camilla, Posh 'n' Becks, Peter and Jordan, Ant and Dec.
St George's Day? It's just not English
I am an Englishman but not one of those championing the idea of celebrating St George's Day. In fact, I agree with the magistrate who refused to extend a publican's licence on April 23 because, in the eyes of the law "St George's Day is not a special day".
This English self-deprecation is not shared by its closest chums. The Welsh insist on nailing up the griffin in every pub, the Scots cover everything in tartan and the Irish dot little green men about the place. They make these patriotic gestures to broadcast to the world that they are not perfidious Anglo-Saxons.
The English on the other hand rarely fly the flag (except in insecure Essex).
They don't stick daffodils in their buttonhole, wear plaid skirts or drink themselves stupid on their patron saint's day. They have no need to.
It was Bernard Shaw who made the point that "to be born English is to win first prize in the great lottery of life".
Noblesse oblige is therefore the English swank and by refusing to make a parade of St George's Day the country demonstrates its innate superiority over its Celtic neighbours.
All hail the platonic toasted sarnie
It has been a good couple of weeks for pub grub.
First Gourmet magazine, the bible of American gastronomy, described the English toasted cheese sandwich as the "platonic ideal" in eating.
And then France's Michelin-starred chef Jean-Christophe Novelli said that pubs now eclipse restaurants in the grooming of future chefs.
If this adulation of the laminated menu continues it is only time before we witness a temper tantrum over the poor quality of the microwave melt, a pork scratching amuse-bouche and the bloke who fills the jacket potato with tuna mayonnaise taking a daily bow in front of the locals.
