DREAMS OF LEAVING


OF BOOZE, BOOKS AND THE BLUES.

I

Pubs are a phenomenon exclusive to the British Isles. I have never come across a pub on the continent. Every attempt at creating a pub overseas only ends up creating another bar, albeit one with a theme, a bar masquerading as a pub. Bars are not to be dismissed, a good bar is something to be cherished, and indeed I spent a good deal of my late adolescence pretending that some of the pubs I drank in were bars. But bars are not pubs.

For anyone growing up in England[1] until roughly about 30yrs ago, the pub played a central role.[2] Most men had a pub which was, literally their ‘local.’ My father frequented The Boars Head, we all knew the landlord, and when my grandfather died, not having a telephone at home, it was the pub landlord who was called and who brought us the news. It is a cliché but the pub was at the heart of the community; as indeed it still is in some, primarily rural, areas.
As I child I sat on the steps eating potato crisps in the shadow of the pub, with the aroma of beer and tobacco drifting out of the door whenever it swung open. Future generations will, I think be amazed at just how smoky pubs were, clouds of smoke filled rooms, themselves full of working class masculine reserve that melted under the affects of alcohol at a glacial speed.[3]
It was the masculinity of pubs I think that attracted me and I suppose as a child the absence of women.[4] There was also, of course the aura of mystery surrounding rooms, where children were very definitely not allowed. To be grown up was to be allowed access to this sanctum.

The rest of this post can be read at The Blue Room 

http://alextalbottheblueroom.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/dreams-of-leaving.html


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