A requisite of our rambles is the pint of foaming real ale in a quiet pub at the end of the weary mile. After our promenade along the Sir Peter Scott Walk, we arrived in King’s Lynn full of Friday afternoon anticipation. From Ferry Lane, we turned left and walked into Tuesday Market Place. Here’s a hint for anyone following our slightly damp footprints: don’t. Turn right instead.
The first pub, the Crown & Mitre, was inexplicably closed at about 3pm on a Friday afternoon. Disappointed, we walked around the square. Smoking drunks were lounging in the doorway of the second pub we tried; the booming music from within was noxious. The next pub had a solitary smoker slumped against the doorjamb, but when I opened the door, I saw the floorboards vibrating with the power of music. “Too noisy for us,” I explained to the bleary-eyed and slightly bemused puffing herald on the door.
On a far corner, we found similar at the 4th pub. In the gloom we could see a couple of drinkers at the bar screaming at each other, not in aggression but in a failed attempt to ride above the fusillade of notes wailing from speakers throughout the bar. We turned and left.
Peering through the window of the 5th pub we could see an elderly barman chatting to his solitary customer. A safe haven, we thought, and entered. He had one hand-pump for real ale and the clip for that was turned in the traditional symbol of no hope. No Abbot? On a Friday afternoon? Thirst overcame us and we forced ourselves to drink awful keg swill and, as we took our seats, the 50 inch television leapt into life, blasting us with full-volume drivel from Radio Blabber. We drank quickly and left.
King’s Lynn on a Friday afternoon attracts a lot of shoppers. The pubs should be doing a brisk trade. Yet all the pubs we tried were almost empty. I can’t understand why, because don’t we all love to push past drunks blowing smoke over us as we try to enter the premises? Do we not thrill at the thought of being deafened by music being pumped out at full volume so we have to shout at each other to be heard? Surely it’s a pleasure to drink sub-standard and expensive beer at sticky tables standing on even stickier carpets? Pub landlords obviously think the answer is yes to all three questions.
A typical landlord leans against the bar saying “Drink & drive and smoking bans have killed the business” or “We can’t compete with the supermarkets.” No, my friend. YOU have killed the trade, because you can see only the money you’re taking and not the money you’re losing as a result. You cater for the half-dozen and forget the hundreds looking for solace in a quiet, welcoming and pleasant hostelry. Look around you – peaceful and amiable pubs are thriving. Why do you think that is?
The music, by the way, was not jazz. And even if it was, we’d still have walked away from the clamour and noise. Jazz is not background music; it demands to be listened to and appreciated. It’s for the club, the dance hall and the concert room. Jazz should never be played as a means to smother other sounds the way Pizza Express uses it, and the way pubs use modern pop music. All loud music in inappropriate settings ultimately repels.
Gripe about loud music over. Now – about those execrable fruit machines with the flashing lights and electronic gimmickry…
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