It's a Royal Knockout

I have to say I’m no Royalist. In fact I once used to have the opinion when I was young and foolhardy that the Royal Family may as well face the Guillotine and have their severed heads placed on spikes so that the tourists could queue up and have their photographs taken with them. I reasoned that it wouldn’t put your average visitor off as they probably savour a touch of the macabre in their lives, hence the popularity of such attractions as the London Dungeon and Madame Tussauds and the continual popularity of ITV murder based crime shows like A Touch of Midsomer Lewis and Thyme.

Being a bit older and wiser I have mellowed in my opinion especially since I realised that, in reality, the Royal Family have no impact upon my life for the most part, despite the letters I get in Her Majesty’s name from the tax mafia. However today I am, in some respects, glad that my plans to remove the heads of the royal household didn’t come to fruition as they have finally done something of note, and without the Queen’s husband offending anyone.

It has been announced that to celebrate the marriage of Prince Somebody to somebody else the pubs are able to stay open until 1am on the day of the wedding without any need for permission. Hooray!! God bless you ma’am, etc.

Let’s face it, nothing shouts ‘Royal Wedding’ like a BOGOF deal on blue WKD and some drunken women screeching ‘I Will Survive’ into the wee small hours on karaoke. Maybe I’m just thinking of one particular pub in Bourne, but you know the pubs I mean. Because at the end of the day it’ll be these rat infested hell-holes that will take advantage of the government’s generosity and not the nice pubs in town like Smiths (Smiths of Bourne, look it up, it’s very good).

I can hold out hope but you know the type of pub that’ll stay open, it’ll be the ones with no hand pumps, just keg lager fonts. The ones that have Sky Sports on continuously and which during the World Cup would have been head to toe in England flags (if of course the cross of St George had the JJB Sports logo in the middle of it – seriously, buy a proper flag!!!)

You know the type of pub I’m talking about, there’s always some really old drunk guy in there who everyone says used to be an ex-boxer but his family disowned him and he now gets into fights so that he can be assured of a bed at night in the local nick. It’ll be those pubs where everyone stares at you when you go in and the décor hasn’t changed since about 1992.

It’ll be those pubs with several fruit machines, but no quiz machine, and a minimum of three pool tables where you know it’ll be ‘winner stays on’ at all times, because that’s what the big guy with the tattooed head and the chunky jewellery says, and who are you to argue when you suspect he’s probably carrying a knife and a number of anger management issues, especially since his wife left him/went missing.

It'll be those pubs that are always ‘under new management’ and every Saturday night there’s a police car parked outside it after someone looked at someone else the wrong way, and always promotes its drinks offers on those neon pieces of card cut out in a star shape.

It sounds like I’m knocking these establishments, and I kind of am, but this is because they’re not to my taste. I prefer to have a nice quiet drink (preferably a real ale or two) in civilised company without the underlying threat that if I accidentally brush past someone at the bar then I will find myself in A&E with the blunt end of a pool cue down my throat and the impression of some geezer's oversized ‘Dad’ ring emblazoned across my face.

I may sound like an ungrateful subject but it’s never the nice pubs that stay open late on these occasions. I like a pub with a convivial atmosphere, where you can buy wine from a proper bottle rather than from a little pump at the bar, and they serve other spirits rather than just vodka (check the optics, if you can see at least four industrial sized bottles of fake Smirnoff then back away slowly, but be careful not to spill anyone’s pint).

I also like to go to the loo without traipsing through the puddles of other customer’s urine, where they don’t sell whiskey flavoured condoms or inflatable sheep out of a machine, and without someone staring at me when I’m trying to pee.

Oh, and be careful if you happen across a guy called ‘Cheeky Monkey’, but that really is another story.