Adios to a reformed puffer who never finished a pint

As Tony Blair's 10-year tenure nears its end, Adam Edwards ponders the PM's legacy and wonders what the drinks industry will remember him for - apart from a long habit of asceticism

What will the Blair legacy be? How will the drinks industry remember the former lead singer of Ugly Rumours? Will we recall the relaxation of licensing hours or binge drinking, or both? Will we speak nostalgically of smoothies and alcopops? And will the average saloon bar Johnnie give an organic fig?

As the UK's top man informed his constituents in Sedgefield, Co Durham, that he was off, I looked up from my pint of Young's Bitter to see how the news was being received.

No tears were being shed, no noses blown or handkerchiefs dabbed. An outpouring of nostalgia was noticeable by its absence.

In fact, it was left to 'Snowie' Watson to shout "trebles all round... a toast to the end of the Third Way", before we sparked up a few cigars and blew smoke at the curdled memory of Cool Britannia.

Let's face it, Tony was not a beer and sandwiches man. The PM was not one to bend the elbow and shake the ketchup. He didn't like a swift sharpener, hand steadier or even a small tincture. He was a Perrier kind of guy.

"At all those photo calls with a pint of beer in his hand, I've never seen Tony finish one," wrote political reporter Bill Blanko in the Guardian's coverage of the Blair legacy.

According to the folklore of the Strangers' Bar in the House of Commons (so called because visitors are admitted there), when Blair was chasing the Labour nomination for the new Sedgefield constituency in 1983 and first walked into the Trimdon Labour Club,

he was told vociferously: "Whatever you do, don't ask for a f***ing Perrier water!"

Twenty years on, when Tony took George Bush to the Dun Cow Inn in Sedgefield, he ordered a soft drink. He no longer needed to struggle to drink beer to make political capital.

"His only real vice was smoking cigarettes," said the BBC's Brian Wheeler in his tribute to Blair. "And that was a habit his wife Cherie made him quit. He smoked his last one 15 minutes before their wedding."

It was an omen of things to come. For the lasting legacy of our hen-pecked, bottled- water PM is a politically correct plastic pint glass under a 'no smoking' sign.

Gastropubs - but not as we know them

Gastropubs are the latest craze in America. It all began with the Spotted Pig in

Manhattan's Greenwich village in New York and has spread across the nation. There are gastropubs in Philadelphia (Standard Tap), Florida (Mucky Duck) and LA (Ford's Filling Station, owned by actor Harrison Ford's son Ben). There is even a gastropub in San Diego (Jayne's Gastropub) that sells fish and chips, but has not got a liquor licence.

In fact, the only common denominator among American gastropubs, other than their collective name, is that they all sell burgers and thin American lager.

However, the gastropub craze may already be fading. According to Philadelphia's Zagat magazine: 'America must brace itself for the next revolution - gastrobistros.'

It is a better than evens bet that they too will sell burgers and bland beer.

The crisp bag is dead, long live the crisp bag

It is hard to believe that it has taken so long, but the Yorkshire food giant Seabrook Crisps has finally cracked the 'rustle-free' crisp packet. The new silent bag, which is similar in both texture and weight to plastic freezer and sandwich bags, is expected to go on sale nationwide later this year.

I am hoping that this is the start of a series of scientific breakthroughs that will lead to the muting of other irritating public house noises. Can we now look forward to squeak-free chalk, silent-bottomed glasses and clack-free dominoes?

A CASE OF HOSE WHO

The most amusing story of the month was of the hen night at the Abbey pub, in Hard Lane, St Helens, Merseyside. The stripper had finished his first set and the sambucas and alcopops were flowing. Unbeknown to the rowdy women, a small fire had broken out in one of the dressing rooms. The fire brigade was called and a short while later, eight firemen entered the premises.

The women thought they were part of the act. They shrieked, clapped and greeted them with cries of "getemoff", which so upset the stripper that he refused to come back on for his second set. Presumably, this pique led to further cries of "getimon".