5 things I’d genuinely do to spend just 2 hours in a pub.
1. Lose one friend forever
I’ve texted a lot of people saying I’d kill someone to be in a pub but that is a lie. I’m no killer.
But I am fickle enough to happily lose a friend for it. Facebook randomer or ride-or-die, used to holiday with my family, oldest friend. Put all their names in a hat, use a random name generator, I don’t really care.
Personally, I’d most enjoy a live TV broadcast in the style of the F.A Cup draw. All my mate’s names on balls, swirling around in that big machine. One pops out. Glen Hoddle holds it up to the camera. ‘Gary Evans’, he says. Sorry, Gary. Been nice knowing you. Say hi and bye to your mum and dad for me, and apologies for all that nasty business at your Gran’s 80th.
I’m off to spend 2 heavenly hours in the Roscoe Head in Liverpool. A pub so small and silent and perfect, it makes any group of more than 3 people look like a raucous stag do. No jukebox, no fruit machine, no TV. It literally boasts about how quiet it is on its website. Perfection.
Amongst the silence, I’ll order a pint and a pie and quietly toast Gary Evans in the same mild Scouse accent I put on to order drinks.
2. Not cut my hair for 6 months
6 whole months. From today too. In total, that’s like 7 months and 3 weeks. That could easily be a month of post lockdown life with no hair cut. 6 weeks in already and the signs are not good. I’m increasingly resembling those photos of 70s footballers when perms were all the rage but transplants didn’t exist yet.
‘I’m just gonna grow it out, see what happens’ is not a sensible option for me. I won’t look like some laid back, Italian lothario. I’ll look someone accused and then cleared of a horrific crime but kids still avoid his house and call him ‘Murdery Pugh’.
But I’ll do it. I’ll take that hit. I’ll get into hats. I’ll get so into hats I’ll become ‘Hatty Pugh’, that’s what they’ll call me. Did you know Hatty Pugh hasn’t cut his hair for half a year? Just so he could spend 2 glorious hours in the Hillgrove? Just so he could sip a Bristol Best, inhale a bag of smoky bacon Wheat Crunchies, bring a book to read so he could be ‘that guy’ but just go on Twitter on his phone instead.
3. Slap a national treasure
Yep.
Take your pick: Attenborough? Stormzy? Grant - Richard E or Hugh, I’m not fussy. I’ll do it. Right in the chops. Not too hard. Just something symbolic. A slap that says ‘I don’t love you like the rest of the nation does’.
I’ll take the backlash too. Reporters door-stepping my Nan, Piers Morgan calling me scum on This Morning, an ITV drama where I’m played by Michael Sheen. Bring it on.
I’ll do a public apology, sure. Right after I spend 2 beautiful hours in Hackney’s Duke of Wellington. I just need to try and play pool even though the table’s too close to the walls and watch 1 behind-closed-doors German football match on one of the 4 tellies.
Then I’ll finish my drink, lick the Scampi Fry dust off my fingers, pretend not to hear the bar man say the p-word (either of them) one last time and step outside to issue my apology to the Great British public.
4. Get hit not too hard in the groin with a pillow or get kicked very hard in the arse
These are trying times. People are angry. Maybe you want to really let loose? Kick someone really hard? Maybe in the arse? Well I’m your guy. Take your best shot. I’ve been doing between 3 and 4 squats a week during lock down. I can take it.
Or maybe you want to cause someone a lot of pain but not enough to do any long-term damage to their child producing capabilities? I’m here for that too. Gaffa tape that pillow to your hand and really give it some mild welly, like a 1 or 2 out of 10. I can probably take it. Just give me a minute afterwards.
Just make sure you hit me — softly backwards or violently forwards — through the door of the Laurieston Bar in Glasgow. Kick me in there for 2 hours and you can even kick me back out again.
Just let me follow the full circle of the bar round. Let me flick through the photo albums. Let me start smoking again so I can chuff a fag in the wood panelled smoking room that feels like you’re indoors and it’s the 60s and smoking isn’t bad for you.
5. Spend those 2 hours with someone I find incredibly annoying
Whatever their opinions, I’ll listen, I’ll indulge, I’ll ask follow up questions.
“Sure, I’d love to hear more about how you beatbox. Please do give me a live demonstration. You do spoken word whilst you beatbox?! Cool, man. You call this one ‘Babylon gon’ get it’. Great stuff, brother, great stuff. I’m sure it does sound better with your friend from boarding school on the didge’*. How could it not, dude?!
Please tell me all about your family by saying ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ instead of ‘my mum’ and ‘my dad’. The royal mum and dad, if you will. I love it. It definitely does NOT make me want scream ‘what about MY mum, what about MY dad’ in your face.
Can we watch football and every time someone goes to ground you comment about how that wouldn’t happen in rugby? You betcha, but only if you promise to do it Every Single Time, buddy. And yes! Giving soldiers footballer’s wages would certainly be an interesting social experiment.
So… tell me more about this ‘mainstream media’ and an article you read on the Canary, please do. I’m all ears, friend. You think the Arctic Monkeys should go back to singing about nights out in Sheffield even though they’re multimillionaires in their 30s? Cool, that’s certainly an opinion. Let me just tell you quickly about this pub we’re in.
It’s called the Sunflower, it’s in Belfast and the greatest birthday present I ever got was a framed photo of it. It’s got Troubles era caged doors and even though I normally hate live music in pubs, I’m not hating this Irish folk band that’s playing.
Oh, you don’t really like pubs? Ok, I mean, sure. That seems like an awfully broad statement, but sure. Let’s talk about that. Let’s. Talk. About. That.”
*a didgeridoo.