What makes me British?
What gave me my sense of humour?
What made me, me?
The answer is the pub, the British pub.
There is no better time, for a man, than that magical couple of hours at the start of the evening where the first four or five pints are supped, and the conversation magically meanders down a stream of wit and immeasurable fun.
You’re going to hear a lot more from me over the next few months about the British pub because they are an endangered species. Did you know that? Thirty-nine (that better be right, Doylie!) are closing every week. It’s a disgrace. A bloody disgrace, and do you know what? I am gonna do something about it!
I’m not advocating binge-drinking, here, but there’s n’owt more fun than a night in a drinking pub. I ain’t talking about shitty bars with chrome/pine furniture, three-quid a pint minging lager and a bunch of pretentious w***ers swanning about like fake cockneys (mockneys), I’m talking about dingy, dirty pubs with pool tables and dart boards, which brings me on to my next topic: darts.
There is no better drinking sport than darts. Snooker is a sport that makes men commit suicide, and is the hardest game in the western world (pipped by kabaddi in the eastern hemisphere). Pool is a class game, but you have to pay money, and some of the balls get stuck and when you play winner-stays-on, some smarmy little bastard with his own queue cleans up. That leaves dominoes, back gammon, blah-di-blah; they’re for pensioners (any other good bar games that deserve a shout?). So darts is the best. Fact.
It is a game of skill, precision, maths and nerves. It is the ultimate sport.
Historically, this beautiful past-time gave rise to the finest gameshow ever to grace British TV: Bullseye (not the US gameshow presented by Jim Lange). Bullseye was amazing. I can’t be arsed to go into the details, but check this link out if you have never heard of this TV giant. The Bullseye Format Just to put into the context the enormity of Bullseye, it ran for thirteen years and drew in about fifteen million viewers, every Sunday night. That was over a quarter of the population!!
Here you go, enjoy …
DON, YOU F***ING IDIOT! YOU F***ING IDIOT! YOU NEEDED 40, YOU USELESS T**T! YOU ARE THE DART PLAYER! YOU ARE THE F***ING DART PLAYER!
Left side of the board for f**k’s sake.
Sorry.
Up north, Don would have lived out the rest of the days in hell. He would have been shunned by his family, friends, workmates and neighbours, and, to be fair, that would have been the least he deserved.
That’s darts, or arras (arrows) as we like to call them.
I said earilier that I wanted to save British pubs, and I do. Hopefully, as I grow into a famous, powerful, impotent author, I will be able to make a big difference to the pub industry. As an unknown, slightly out-of shape, nearly impotent author, I can help a little.
www.mark-jackman.com and www.ll-publications.com are now proud sponsors of a darts team, The Albion Arras, Loughborough, England.
We are having a night out on the oche to celebrate, and I will report back on the festivities. There will be a chance for you to meet the team, and a chance to win Albion Arras/Great Right Hope merchandise.
H’oway the Albion Arras! Wish them luck, friends!
“Wake up to a nice hot cuppa with this Goblin tea’s maid!” Jim Bowen, Bullseye Host.
Pic courtesy of Wikipedia (Mudhappy)
Yes to real ale! Never been that keen on darts, but live music a must. Ideally of a folk persuassion.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5h4PFBuzvw&feature=channel_page for a protest fen that might possibly speak to you!
To be fair, the holiday looked sh*t. They could only afford close up of postcards
Got to love a good country pub. But a more radical solution is required…The best way to save them has got to be bring back drinking and driving. In the days when you took your life in your hands you could go out and have one to many and all you needed to worry about was the chance if you were driving on the wrong side of the road you would get pulled. Now not only is there increased policing but it’s seen as socailly incorrect.
Save the pubs by a 30 minute free for all when all the drunks can get home no insurance cover no repercussions If you do die you can’t say you wern’t warned.
I can see it may not be the time to try and walk home probably best to wait rather than play chicken with a country full of drink drivers but that could be a different challenge.
oh well back to the busses.
Oh and DONT DRINK AND DRIVE..
Another yes to real ale, stained pool tables, dodgy barmaids with tattoos on the shoulder and an old man sitting in the corner reading a paper! Don’t let them dieeeee!!
I’m not sure anything can be done to save the British boozer now. The town centre ‘glass and metal’ (s)wanky bars will always be there to cater for the weekend meat market. A few real ale pubs will survive but mainly by concentrating on food and providing a good service to the middle-Englanders. They won’t entertain the thought of pub games either. They’ll be no Falklands Vet behind the bar serving you pints on a Tuesday afternoon telling you he won’t do you a soft drink just because you’re driving. Join CAMRA and get down the boozer!
Spit and sawdust everytime, with a compulsary lock in, where the only food is pepperami or pork scratchings. Stick the poncy £3 a pint freezing cold fizz up your arse and get on the Real ale.
Bring back ShipO’s as well, that keeps you regular and ensures no birds come within 2 metres of you…..pubs are no place for women after all.
Bryn – This may be controversial, but I prefer a juke box to live music. Not sure what everyone else thinks?
Dredge – That holiday was mint for the mid-80s!
Berry – That might just work. That might just bloody work
Aggressive Hobbit – It’s pretty hard to stop the old man reading the paper in the corner from dying, but we can try, my friend, we can try.
Rob – I am going to contact CAMRA. They need Sid Tillsley.
Skwad – What the **** is ShipO’s??
Agreed… down with the bars that are like Ikea with beer! Still haven’t forgiven the owner of my old local “the wildwood” for selling out and turning it into a “gastro pub”… at least they kept the dart board though! Jacko, i’m in churchill this weekend, i’ll drink your share at the Crown… I’ll even crap in the annex bathroom the following morning and leave the door wide open for old times sake!
If crapping with the door open is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
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Jacko Says:
“If crapping with the door open is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.”
Oh.
My.
God!!!!
Sunnii, I’ll tell the whole story, one day. Let’s just say it was a result of drinking with professional rugby players.