I like to think there was a time when Britain was normal. I can’t imagine it ever was, but at least people didn’t queue in pubs. These days that’s exactly what’s happening: drinkers standing in single file up to the bar as if they’re waiting for a terrible coffee in Pret, or are eagerly waiting to place their order for a medium-hot half chicken at their local Nando’s.
It’s been going on for a while now. Others have commented, questioning why and how humanity fell to such delinquency. Until now, I’ve been holding my tongue, because I didn’t really believe it was such an issue. Maybe people queue for airport bars or in a Swindon TravelLodge, possibly at gigs at large concert venues, but not in everyday boozers or London bars?
For shame, it’s real. A tour of the Twitter account @queuespub shines a sad spotlight on it all in its campaign to end what I suppose is a consequence of Covid. Then, queuing was necessary. But it has carried on.
“We queue for the bus, or for the checkout, not at bars,” decries the @queuespub page. “Message in your photos”. And there are so many photos, from Hull to Leighton Buzzard, documenting a very real and disquieting crisis, documenting a very real and disquieting crisis: I’ve seen some lines weaving out the door as expectant, supposedly polite (I think it’s all a showy ruse) British punters line up and wait, probably tutting, for their Madri and sauvignon blanc.
Online, notably X, mostly people are aghast and in despair — well in the fight against pub queuing and rightly so. Quite obviously. But then it can’t be obvious to everyone, or this wouldn’t be a problem, and I wouldn’t be spending time writing about it.
What hasn’t been mentioned up until now is this: queuing at a regular pub, neighbourhood or city centre, is patronising to bartenders in that it supposes they are incapable of doing their job properly. To queue is to suggest anyone behind a bar isn’t able to recognise faces and work out who’s next for a beer.
I worked in pubs for years and at one time at a particularly busy pub in Oxford. For sometime, it was the pre-drinking venue of the hour, the place everyone would congregate to become convivial. And on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday nights, it would be carnage — “it’s five deep at the bar” would be the chat. Mayhem, people pushing and shoving and, yes, occasionally there would be arguments. Often there would be frustration. But that’s all part of it, I feel. Sir, this is a pub, not a Pret.
The fightback is on and very real
The point is, even casual shifters would know who was next. If they were unsure, a moment of deliberation or hesitation would be quickly up-ended by gestural motions explaining who, actually, had been waiting the longest. Full-timers like me would always know. It isn’t hard but it does need practice — not only must you get to know people’s orders and work out the goings-on of the place, you also need some chat, especially if you want tips.
Working in a pub grants you licence to remember who is who, even what they want. That’s the job. Hospitality is a profession for a lot of people. Skill and quick-thinking is a requirement. And, irrespective of all of this, drinkers are generally fairly decent — they know who’s next too, often, and will wave their hand or nod in that very British way to acknowledge the fact. It is the embodiment of pints culture.
Pub queuing does away with all of that. It’s lunacy. It ruins a pub atmosphere and means people don’t meet others at the bar, or stand there wonkily nursing a Guinness. It takes away everything good about a pub: community spirit, a little bit of edge, a light freneticism that rises like a tide after work or at the weekend, when the British psyche needs nurturing.
But more than anything, pub queuing is a slap in the fact for people who serve drinks and fetch scotch eggs, who chat and sort and instill a little order to what would otherwise be a cacophony. And yes sometimes pubs do go a bit south and things get out of hand. Maybe somebody pushes in. But that’s life and to dilute it to such a degree that a pub becomes as clinical as a doctor’s surgery, a Tesco, or the canteen at work renders the very nature of a pub obsolete. Also, pushers are quickly found out. Degenerates that they are. Clearly they’ve never heard of wanker tax (back in the day, the very worst people, on busy nights, would pay more for their drinks, but I probably shouldn’t write about that).
The fightback is on and very real. Some pubs are erecting signs asking punters to avoid queuing and instead walk to the bar, as is tradition, as has always been. I’ve seen many on social media complain about having witnessed a queue, some explaining that they ignored it entirely, walked past those waiting and got themselves a drink. No doubt it caused a chorus of tutting.
That’s just it, though, isn’t it? It’s those who tut who queue. Abnormal? Actually, they’re probably the most “normal” among us, aren’t they, and should therefore stay at home.
Josh Barrie is a London Standard food and drink writer
