Bloke walks into a pub

Sunday 30th October 2011
We visited the farmer’s market at Stockport Town Hall where Ed’s school had a stall. He decorated a book mark before taking more of an interest in the stands which sold wares of a sweeter disposition. We bought some cheeses from the Cheshire Cheese stand, some Arabic bread and, reluctantly, a decorated sweet lolly as a gesture of good will to the stall holders after Ed had wrapped his mits around it.

The cheeses were higher in price, but innovative, and we had a nice chat with the stall holders about the history and status (endangered) of the region’s cheese. I was happy to part with the cash. They’re passionate, attentive and informative.
I had these in mind after visiting my nearest pub in the afternoon. A sign outside promised ‘all live sport shown’ and I was keen to watch Leeds Utd vs Cardiff City. I had been here before and knew that I wasn’t going to get smiley service but, at best, hoped that they would be brusquely co-operative in dealing with me. When I went in, the screen aired non sports to a disinterested band of punters. In another room, I called in, a local lifted his gaze and held it. I then went and spoke to the bar maid who said she would speak to the landlord in the cellar. She returned to confirm it would be shown. I paid for a pint and sat down where the screen continued on its channel unchanged.

I wasn’t looking forward to prompting the landlord. He was every bit as shaven headed and hard of expression as the last time I visited here. He initially insisted the game was later, then switched between a couple of channels, lingering on one which was a repeat of one of yesterday’s premiership matches with rolling foreign text. ‘It’s not on’, he said, with a look that said if I insisted otherwise, I’ll be taken to the cellar where the resulting pounding will result in enough tumbling barrels to fill an episode of Starsky and Hutch. I drank the pint quickly and was glad to leave.

My subsequent entries into Edgeley pubs suggested I have all the dramatic entrance of a cowboy huckster for all the heads that turned simultaneously. Received wisdom of my associates is that the Royal Oak is the most positive of the bunch, at least on the main street, and this proved to be the case. The staff amiably turned to the channel after a punter piped up ‘it’s on 401’. I turned down their offer of turning up the commentary – the Stranglers’ No More Heroes was playing on the speakers. There was some stirring and three of us shuffled up to watch this regionally unfashionable fixture. I sat back against the draped Halloween decorations and the pints were 25p less the local pub from which I had departed.

It’s easy to knock pubs that seem a closed shop of hardy regulars, to which the landlord may have said 'He thinks he can show up and watch what he wants' but on this same day I spoke to neighbours who also had the experience of finding the place similarly unfriendly. I have also had a conversation with someone on a bus who has passed on the pithy advice of ‘don’t go there’. If this is spread out through our community, that’s a lot of service that the pub is missing out on.