Quote Of The Day

QOTD

From Oasis’s Noel Gallagher:

“What I’ve found creeping into pubs, what you see now in pubs, which you didn’t used to see back in the day, is fucking dogs. I don’t recall stepping over loads of fucking dogs to go to the bogs in a pub in the ‘90s.  Kids and dogs, fuck ‘em off, get home.
“Pubs need to get back to encouraging drinkers through their doors, and stop doing food because I hate sinking a few pints surrounded by waitresses and plates.  Every pub does fucking food now as well. I’ve got a real fucking problem with food in pubs. Fuck off to a restaurant and then come back.”

I’m kind of in sympathy with him (although I couldn’t sing one of his band’s songs if you held a gun to my head).

The hell with dogs, whether in pubs or wherever.  Your dog needs exercise?  Walk it, then take it home, then go out to a pub.

Way I see it, a pub can sell the kind of food that’s more of a snack (meat pies, fish & chips, toasted sandwiches, bags of chips/crisps or bowls of peanuts)… but that’s it.

Don’t even get me started on “gastropubs”, FFS.

The business of a pub is to serve booze to grownups.  End of.

Yeah, I know.  With all this hoo-hah about drunk driving (note to Brits:  “drink” driving is a silly, effete phrase), nobody goes out just to drink anymore.  Ever wondered when we as a society started to become more like children?

When all this bullshit started.

6 comments

  1. I enjoy going to craft breweries which, generally, are very dog-friendly. Despite not being a “dog person” I’m fine with that because, again, generally, the dogs are well behaved. Meaning, of course, that they’ve been trained to comport themselves appropriately. It’s when the owner can’t or won’t train & control their dog and they act like undisciplined children that I have a problem. A larger issue is that children, who are also allowed, too frequently revert to a feral state and are allowed to run amok. I’ve noticed that the owner of a dog who’s done something inappropriate will generally show shame and correct the animal; the parents of unruly crotch goblins don’t even notice their disruptive effect on the other patrons.

    1. I came to say the same thing. Even at my local drafthouse here in Dallas (literally called a Drafthouse), I took the wife out to get a quick dinner that didn’t involve either of us in front of hot stove and a few pints.
      This was around 6 on a Friday, and there were more toddlers and infants in the place than drinking adults. I know that they are going for a German drafthaus thing, and kids are a common fixture in a german beer garden, but I can’t imagine that they were the screaming, spilling, oafish crotchspawn that I see all the time here. I’m not even mad at the kids — I’m mad at the 30yo neck tatted pierced monstrosity that brought them in.
      It’s not all bad, though. There’s a father that I see sometimes who stops by with his 9-ish son, presumably on the way home from school. He has a pint, the kid has a bottle of root beer, and they sit at the bar like civilized men.

  3. I’m noticing it too. I could go on a 5000 word rant about it, but I won’t. I find it distasteful as does Noel.

  4. When I was dating my then girlfriend and future wife (the Late One, not the Last One), I lived in Chicago and she in Milwaukee. We both lived in neighborhoods that had a tavern or two per block and Old Style was 50 cents on draft or you could get a pitcher for $2.50. Food? Chips, or dredge a pig knuckle or red blob of sausage out of a jug behind the bar. Maybe a fish fry on Friday night. Most taverns looked like people’s homes and many owners, in fact, lived above them.
    Kids were allowed in the tavern but not after 4pm. No dogs ever. If they had a TV they had one and it was only on when the Brewers, Cubs, Packers, Bears were on. My BIL owned a tavern in the industrial district of Milwaukee that was open 23 hours a day and was a big end-of-shift met up joint for factory works. A shot, a brat, a beer and a hard boiled egg for 99 cents if you were coming off shift.

    The tavern experience is mostly dead. It certainly is here in Northern Virginia. It doesn’t help that I have to drive through 5 police jurisdiction’s to get to the one pseudo-pub around. Add to that misery is the fact a pint of Guinness and a Cornish Pasty is $23 plus city, county and state tax, tip, fair wage surcharge, and global warming offset fee.

    I was in Cardiff, Wales, London, and Kilkee, Ireland last month. London is shit. Cardiff is still a good knockaround town with some decent pubs, and Killkee is hanging on for dear life. The lovely beach homes that I used to rent there in the 90’s and 00’s are now “temporary” housing for cultural enrichers, who seem to be everywhere in Ireland. The English are generally an unhappy sort most of the time, but the ones I met JUST. WANT. OUT. The Irish are just plain angry and that bubble is about to pop. The police are too busy protecting immigrant protesters to protect the tax-paying public.

    I’m afraid this was our last trip to the UK. We’ve been going 1-2 times a year since I married the Last Wife (9 years this December), but I’m too old for this shit.

    See America First.

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