Unwritten Rules

How to be a good pub citizen

Visiting a pub is rarely a solo experience. In fact, every one of the regulars I have so far introduced you to come in safe in the knowledge that they will not be alone for very long; if they’re the first in, they’ll very quickly be joined by their friendship group, whether the meeting was specially arranged or whether they come in at the same time every day.

For instance, Seymour is often the first of Tea Time Club in, but there then usually follows a steady procession through the door of Brunel, Andy, Mr McCririck, Thumper, Hari and Pongo. It’s as if they sense when one has begun the arduous journey from house to public house, and they all make ready and begin the long march in search of refreshment. If I didn’t know any better, I might even begin to question whether there was some sort of pub-based bat signal that fills the skies around West Yorkshire.

Except that may be risky; it might lure Batman himself to Tea Time Club…

The point is, visiting the pub is normally a group affair. People come to chat, exchange gossip, and spend some time putting the world to rights. You can’t very well do that on your own.

Well, you can, but you might get some funny looks…

I’ve also mentioned before that I believe there are certain unwritten rules surrounding pub etiquette that it’s just good basic manners to follow. Like not bringing in your own snacks if an equivalent is available over the bar.

In this post, I’m going to introduce you to two other of my pub-based unwritten guidelines and how certain groups break them. On their own, these are tiny niggles and don’t necessarily justify getting even mildly irked. But when I can only really pinpoint one specific group who contravene these ‘rules’, there is at least some logic to suggest I’m not the only one who thinks that some people, just a little bit, take the mickey…

CAMRA

For the sake of full disclosure, you need to know that I’m a former paying member of the Campaign for Real Ale. When I first joined, I had just discovered my taste for all things hand-pulled, and thought the benefits of joining The Campaign would be myriad. In truth, all I really gained was some money-off vouchers for Wetherspoons, and a chance to meet with several ‘like-minded’ middle aged men shouting at clouds. Naturally, I only ever attended one branch meeting…

And, having let my membership lapse, I’ve since developed a little bit of a massive loathing for The Campaign and nearly everything they stand for. In fact, the only good thing they do, in my eyes, is let people know where sells hand-pulled ale. But their definition of ‘good’ beer and mine appears to be vastly divergent.

Several years ago, when I was still a card-carrying member, they introduced their campaign for the year, which they called something like ‘a pint means a pint’. In 2022, they pushed again along exactly the same lines: a pint of beer should be 100% liquid, because otherwise the customer is being short changed.

I honestly think these people do not understand what beer is.

A pint of beer, especially in Yorkshire, should have a creamy head, which enhances the experience of drinking the beer in the first place! You wouldn’t catch an Italian asking the waiter to put more liquid into his espresso to remove the crema, because the crema enhances the espresso. So does a creamy head on a good pint.

Now the pub appears in their Good Beer Guide every year. Which doesn’t, by and large, fetch many CAMRA members into the pub. But we do get a few. And trust me, you can spot them a mile off. Just look for the people in khaki wax hats with a retro-fitted chin strap, wearing walking boots, carrying a knackered old rucksack and an air of superiority as they observe the beer pumps.

Specifically, we get a couple who come in every Saturday. And they’ve clearly bought into the CAMRA message, at least in part. They ask to have the sparkler removed from the pump, so as to ensure they don’t get any head in their glass and end up with a vessel brimmed with nothing but liquid beer. Flat beer. Ruined beer.

Where they differ, though, is that they seldom have a pint. Because they want to try as many of the 7 beers available as possible in their visit.

Now that part I’m fine with. If your hobby is beer, it makes sense to expand your horizons as much as time and blood-alcohol levels allow.

But here’s where they really contravene what I think is an unwritten rule of pub etiquette: they’ll ask for a sample first.

Let me make something clear: if you want to sample a beer before you invest your hard-earned, you are well within your rights to do just that. Especially if you intend to have several pints of it. But if you’re visiting a pub, complete with notebook and pen to make detailed notes about and score each beer you try, and if you’re only drinking halves, just order a half.

Sampling a beer should be reserved for people who want to enjoy the same beer over the course of a couple of hours. Sampling a beer to decide whether you want to sample a beer is exploiting a loophole. Particularly when you’re going to have a sample of six beers, which you’re then going to have a half of each of anyway. What you’re really doing there is having seven halves for the price of six.

And it won’t surprise you to learn who promoted the idea that you should be able to sample a beer before buying a pint of it in the first place.

That’s right; CAMRA…

The Hairy (Push)Bikers

If the previous story featured two card-carrying, fully-paid-up, lifetime members of CAMRA, this one features three gents who have certainly at least flirted with the idea of joining The Campaign. They come in once or twice a week, having reached the pub normally on their expensive road bikes, the very definition of MAMILs, complete with cycling shoes which cause them to walk like Donald Duck tap dancing.

These folks, too, like to sample a beer before they buy. But at least they’ll buy a couple of pints of it if they like it.

The rule they contravene, though, is a little more subtle. Put simply, it relates to the average length of time per transaction.

The process of purchasing beer over the bar should be much like visiting a busy public toilet: get in, do your business, and get out again as quickly as possible. The process these guys follow, however, must add literal minutes to the Time Per Customer graph on any day they visit.

And it isn’t even the same process each time they buy a round. The first purchase is different to the subsequent ones.

When they first arrive, en masse, they all come to the front of the bar, ignore the friendly greeting from behind the bar, and speak in hushed tones as they carefully study each pump clip. They’ll then deliberate, also in hushed tones, over which of the beers to ask for a sample of. One of them will pluck up the courage to ask the friendly and knowledgeable bartender for a sample of their chosen beer, and they will happily be served requested sample.

The one who was brave enough to speak to the bartender first will duly nose the sample like a fine wine, take a sip into his mouth, roll it around and then stare wistfully into the middle distance to fully take in the flavours. Once he’s swallowed and examined the remaining contents of the glass by holding it up to the light, he’ll pass the glass onto his friend, who will complete the same charade. Finally, the third member of their party will be offered the remnants from the taster, nose it, taste it, chew it and analyse it internally, before they return to their hushed tones in a small huddle and deliberate some more.

Sometimes, they’ll point variously to one or two other pump clips, and may even ask for another sample of another beer, at which point the whole process begins again. Occasionally, they may be satisfied with the beer they chose first time, in which case they’ll ask for three pints of it.

Meanwhile, there are people queueing out of the door, dying of thirst…

This is frustrating for the people behind the bar and the rest of the waiting public. But not as frustrating as what happens when they come for their second, third or fourth rounds. Because then, only one of them will approach the bar. They’ll have usually already decided what to sample this time, so at least that initial deliberation takes place before the transaction begins.

But the one who comes to the bar isn’t trusted to make a decision for the group, so the sample makes its way back to their table, whence they reenact their initial tasting ritual.

At this point, the bartender rightly begins to question whether they are still serving this group or are free to serve the next in line.

(As an aside, there are no physical queues at the bar – people who form an orderly line waiting for beer REALLY get on my nerves!)

Everybody involved knows that there will shortly be an order of three pints coming, but since they’ve left their place at the bar, is the transaction still ongoing, or do they then need to go to the back of the line and wait for everybody at the bar before them to then be served?

And in the summer, the process takes even longer, because they tend to like to sit out in the sunshine!

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