SOCIAL DRINKERS

Field Guide

A Field Guide to Social Drinkers

Torquil Arbuthnot provides a handy guide to the different types of social drinker one may encounter now the pubs are open again

As the tedium of lockdown ends and a Chap is able to saunter forth once more, his thoughts swiftly turn to the delights of social drinking. Whatever the type and location of watering-hole (the Soho drinking den, the park bench, the Lamb & Flag) one will encounter in each establishment a wide selection of social drinkers. The following field guide will help the discerning Chap identify (and in some cases avoid) some of the more common types of toper.

“After lunch a siesta is in order, followed by a further drinking session (industrial-strength cider, a dry sherry) on a park bench, where he will exchange badinage with passers-by and pigeons”

The Saloon Bar Bore

The Saloon Bar Bore will wear a striped tie from a regiment he didn’t serve in, a signet ring with a crest he’s not entitled to, and a moustache that doesn’t suit him. He dominates the bar with his braying voice and military slang garnered from old copies of Commando comic. He will freely give his loud opinion on everything from how to run the NHS to the best carburettor for a Hillman Minx. Naturally he has his own pewter tankard behind the bar and will almost certainly be a real ale bore. He imagines himself to be a ‘local character’ and is only tolerated by the pub regulars because he buys round after round for everyone in lieu of having any friends. Although he hints desperately that he’s a retired MI6 spy or professional roulette player, it is generally known he married a rich wife who can’t stand the sight of him, so sends him to the pub each day with copious amounts of pocket-money. He is regularly bitten by the pub dog.

The Gentleman of the Road

The gentleman of the road is fashionably attired in upcycled distressed clothing. The more traditional will carry his belongings on his shoulder in a knotted handkerchief tied to the end of a stick. He prefers his drinking to be al fresco and can often be spotted in the local park, taking the sun with like-minded fellows or carousing along the embankment. His day will start with a light breakfast of chilled continental lager, before a trip to the off-licence to purchase a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 (‘Blue Raspberry’ flavour) or Thunderbird grape wine. The more discerning type will favour a ‘Red Biddy’ cocktail (red wine and meths), sometimes flavoured with Brasso strained through a nylon stocking for that extra zing. After lunch a siesta is in order, followed by a further drinking session (industrial-strength cider, a dry sherry) on a park bench, where he will exchange badinage with passers-by and pigeons.

The Office Partygoer

The noted poet Mr. John Cooper Clarke said that his father never bet on the Grand National or got drunk on Christmas Day, as they were the two days a year when he left it to the amateurs. The Office Partygoer is such an amateur, who turns up in the Lamb & Flag after an afternoon of drinking warm Lambrusco and eating cheese straws to celebrate someone’s retirement or the office Christmas party. They always spend an age cluttering up the bar while they ponder aloud what they want to drink. The female eventually asks for something complicated like a vari-coloured cocktail with a twee name, or an obscure Ruritanian liqueur that she “fell in love with on holibobs”. The male will ask for an avocado-flavoured gin he’s read about in The Guardian. They will ask the barman what tapas the pub does and will wordlessly be shown the jar of pickled eggs.

The Steadfast Regular

The backbone of the British pub, he either sits quietly in the corner with the crossword, his Jack Russell and a pint of mild-and-bitter, or communes with like-minded souls over the cribbage board, the shove ha’penny, the darts oche or the dominoes piste. He can discourse learnedly and entertainingly on the burning issues of the day – England’s batting collapse, the barmaid’s alleged love life, who will win the 4.30 at Kempton, or the vagaries of the fruit-machine. He will always wear a jacket and tie (possibly his demob suit) accesorised with a venerable trilby and a dog-chewed walking stick, and will occasionally sport a betting-shop pencil behind his ear. The Steadfast Regular’s wife will join him in the pub of a Saturday night, where she will drink gin-and-It and commiserate with the barmaid about her love life. They will be on nodding acquaintance, but no more, with the Saloon Bar Bore.

The Rugger Aficionado

Upon entering a pub and complementing the landlord on the traditional sawdust on the floor, one might be told, “Ah, that’s actually last night’s furniture – the rugby club were in here yesterday.” Although the Rugger Aficionado frequently destroys the furnishings and fittings of pubs, he is popular with publicans because he not only always apologises and pays for the damage inflicted, but also drinks copious amounts of ale and spirits. He can be identified easily, as he travels in a pack of like-minded souls clad in jeans, rugby shirts, bloodstains and traffic cones. Their idea of a cocktail is to top up their pints of beer with their own or others’ urine or, on occasion, with foam from the fire-extinguisher. Much of the alcohol they buy ends up being poured over their own heads. Rather than make use of the jukebox, they will regale the clientele with a rousing rendition of all 94 verses of Four and Twenty Virgins Came Down from Inverness.

The Soho Clubman

Until the 1980s, the harsh licensing laws of England were a leftover from the Defence of the Realm Act of 1914. Draconian laws were such that, between the hours of 3 and 5.30 pip-emma, a pub was not allowed to serve alcohol. This left the thirsty gentleman in need of somewhere in which to slake his thirst of an afternoon, and licensed private clubs proliferated. The Soho Clubman frequents one of these clubs, usually found at the top of dingy stairs in Greek Street and furnished with priceless artwork, left in lieu of bar tabs. The Soho Clubman will be either an artist who has never sold a single daub, a writer who has never scribbled a single line, or an actor who is perennially ‘resting’. He will belong to several such drinking clubs, forever being temporarily barred from each, for misdemeanours such as kicking the owner’s chihuahua or passing stumers. His alcohol consumption will be akin to that of gentlemen of the road. n

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