When I arrived at the north London pub 20 minutes late, my friend was midway through her latest romantic drama. She was having relationship troubles with her (live-in!) boyfriend of two weeks, and with every twist and turn in the story our noisy histrionics increased. Across from us, a group of about 30 people sat spread across several tables, quietly enjoying a twixtmas drink. After an abortive attempt to secure a drink through the app, I went to the bar.
As I arrived, two of the people from the tables across from us were also there, attempting to do the same. The staff behind the bar refused to serve them and when they argued back, the whole bar was shut. As I returned to the table, my friend was still in full flow. Over her shoulder, I saw the ominous hi-vis jackets of two Metropolitan police officers enter the pub and talk to the bar staff before approaching the group next to us. Before long another dozen or so arrived, demanding that they leave. Their crime? Being Travellers in a pub.
