The Hand and Racquet, Covent Garden

I'm not having this!
The nights I have have in this boozer go down in British folklore.
Half-gallon Hancock they used to call me.
Saturday nights were a real treat. A pound in your pocket, a pint in your hand and a bird on your arm...
Shame I used to struggle with all three.
Mind you, they did wrong getting rid of Gladys.
I was in there.
I offered her a weekend in Clacton you know.
Then she found out Sid and Bill were coming and she went off the idea.
You know why it is? Why this pub shut down? Well of course they all say: It's you Tone, you haven't been doing a turn in the saloon bar for years.
I would pull them in. Wouldn't leave 'til me third encore.
...Well me third round
That and the public turning to foreign...what do they call it? Lager? Laaa geeeerrrr? It's not right! A pint of brown ale is how it should be. Churchill wouldn't drink this muck. I mean it's alright being a bit wayward, but only of British booze. Surely noone can be proud to say they were a bit wobbly off this continental claptrap. Warsteiner? My word, five years on the front line played havoc with me feet and the country celebrates with a pint of Adolph's finest.
I don't know.
I mean look at it. A global force we were, envy of the world. Leaders in battle, industry, technology, the arts and pride.
Look at us now...
I may aswell turn it in

7 Mar 2009 00:51