Robert Sayles: The sanctity of the round

I looked at the clock; 6:42. They should be arriving any minute now.

Reaching down to retrieve some glasses I happened to glance through the window at the far end of the bar and caught sight of some very familiar figures coming into view. You could set your clock by these boys!

In they trooped. "Evening lads" I said; "evening Bob" they chorused in unison.

Formalities over, the group continued a somewhat animated discussion about Birmingham's prospects in the upcoming derby against Villa. I meanwhile tended to the drinks.

Joe handed over a twenty pound note as the last of the pints was put on the bar. I keyed the order into the till before handing over the change.

"Bloody hell Bob! Where's the rest of it?"

"Prices have gone up", I replied, "the Chancellor wants us all to give a little bit more."

Joe mumbled something inaudible to himself before putting the change in his pocket.

"Oh by the way, I've given Bill a full pint. Is that all right with you Bill?"

There was a brief pause before everybody, with one notable exception, burst out laughing. Despite what Bill hoped, events the previous week had not been forgotten.........

The schooner: a girl's drink

That particular evening was proceeding like any other. One of the lads had given me the nod for another round of drinks. As I reached for the glasses, a voice behind me said "Make mine a schooner Gaff!"

I paused, unsure whether or not I'd heard correctly. "What did you say?" I asked turning to confront the source. It was Bill.

By now all conversation within the group had stopped; heads began to turn. Everybody appeared to sense something was amiss.

"I just asked for a schooner" said Bill somewhat defensively. In truth he was looking more than a little sheepish, becoming all too aware of the consternation his request was beginning to generate.

Brian, the shortest and most vocal member of the group had a look of complete bewilderment on his face. "Wot the **** is a schooner?" he asked.

I looked at Bill. By this stage he'd gone pale, complete and utter helplessness registered on his face. He clearly hadn't anticipated this reaction and appeared incapable of providing any sort of coherent response.

Clearly the moment had arrived for me, both as his friend and landlord, to step in and provide the support he so desperately needed.

"Well it's a drink for those who don't feel they can handle a full pint" I said. "In fact there are those who would suggest it's more of a girl's drink to be honest."

A deathly silence hung in the air as the enormity of my words sunk in. A couple of the lads put their pints on the bar as if to highlight the seriousness of the situation.

I looked at Bill. The sense of resignation in his demeanour was all too apparent. We both knew that with those few words I had condemned him to an evening of untold misery.

"What's going on Bill?" asked Don, his concern all too evident.

The rest of the group turned in unison to confront him. It was clear that an explanation was required.

The questions came thick and fast. When answers weren't forthcoming numerous theories were advanced.

"Your missus has put her foot down, hasn't she?" asked Joe to murmurings of approval from the rest of the group.

"Well, I think we all know who wears the trousers in that particular house" added Dave supportively.

As the interrogation continued it was clear that the group were in no mood to let this go. In truth, it was like watching a baying pack of dogs scenting blood, eager to move in for the kill.

Standing there, schooner glass in hand, I watched proceedings with bated breath. It appeared this could go either way.

However, as Bill continued to squirm under a barrage of questions it quickly became evident that the outcome was never seriously in doubt.

Discreetly, I put the glass back on the shelf and waited patiently for events took their natural course. Needless to say, it didn't take long.

"Oh bollocks to it" said Bill eventually, "give us a pint".

There was a collective sigh of relief. Everybody reached for their drinks as if to celebrate some great victory. In some senses that's exactly what it was. After all, harmony within the group had been restored, the natural order of things re-established.

Discussions about Birmingham's prospects for the season resumed, the unfortunate episode put to one side, for the time being at least.

The round

Now there are those who seek to pass judgement upon the practice of buying rounds; suggesting it's a threat to people's health, that it encourages irresponsible drinking.

I would suggest such people simply don't understand the social dynamics that underpin this most sacred of practices.

The tradition of the round is steeped in history, couched in an ethos close to the hearts of many, a ritual enacted every minute of every day in pubs up and down the country. It is an integral part of our heritage, something to be treasured not discarded.

Buying rounds serves an immensely important purpose. It brings people together, provides a bond and cultivates a sense of belonging.

Dr Peter Marsh, co-director of the Social Issues Research Centre, (SIRC) maintains that we shouldn't miss the significance of the giving and receiving within a group. "It's civilisation in action in a pub" he says.

If you believe the Guide to British Pub Etiquette, (produced from research on pub life carried out by the SIRC) then it's particularly important to the emotionally inhibited British male. The guide states:

"Reciprocal gift-giving is the most effective means of preventing aggression between nations, tribes and individuals. In the British pub, it is essential because the British male is frightened of intimacy, finds it difficult to express friendly interest in other males and can be somewhat aggressive."

In short, if men weren't buying each other pints they'd probably be killing each other. So to those wishing to eradicate yet another of our valued social customs I would say this; leave well alone.

Those who choose to buy rounds do so with the best of intentions. The practice reflects a positive side of human nature, one we should both celebrate and encourage.

That said, those participating in this ritual need to understand that there are unwritten rules. These need to be adhered to, as Bill discovered to his cost.

Needless to say, nobody has since dared mention the word 'schooner'.

Not in my pub at least!