BOOK REVIEW: WETHERSPOONS NEWS
A wee while ago I took a copy of Wetherspoons News out of the actual pub - it felt naughty, even though I know it’s fine, even though the kiosk begs: “PLEASE TAKE ONE!”. Truth is, I’ve never seen one out in the wild; they feel to me a lil like the pre-reformation Bible in that you’re encouraged to follow His teachings, but God forbid the common man take the book home, lest he cross-reference it with other materials or, even worse, actual real-world experiences.
Sir Tim Martin, whom I picture as producing the mag entirely on his own from conception and graphic design all the way through to printing and distribution* (such is his utter enthusiasm for the project), struck a nerve for me in this issue by ranting about the decline of the British pub and the shocking reasons thereof.
*before getting tenderly pegged by his wife - I don’t know why
I love pubs - the idea of Britain descending into some North Korean hellhole without the chaos of drunkenness lining our streets truly terrifies me, and Mr. Martin knows this (about me personally, I felt). His writing makes abstinence campaigners sound like delusional cultists, something I’ve always felt in my gut (which is admittedly frothing with beer). I can’t even imagine a Britain without drink, gripped as I am by a paralysis of fear at the mere mention of labour’s smoking ban plans. These kinda things make Farage, fag in mouth and bitter in hand, come off like a gleaming icon of Britishness. It makes his further-right counterpart Rupert Lowe look like a righteous crusader for the very best things about the ‘70s, that is, two pints and a ploughman's every lunchtime. It’s a shame they want half my mates deported eh.
I always felt icky about voting and am jealous of those who can do so with such certainty. Let’s say I supported a politician who actually represented my interests: is there anyone who would genuinely celebrate the chuffing and the quaffing (regardless of if there’s kids around) but who doesn’t impulsively mention the apparent crimes of “foreigners” in every single facebook post regardless of context like some jerking twitch of an impatient?
The two are apparently mutually exclusive, as Rupert Lowe MP beautifully illustrates. You simply can’t idealise the smokey pubs and bookie shops of bygone Britain without an accompanying distrust of brown people (or at least the ones not “white” enough in sensibility (and with a thick skin for racist banter)). Are we not allowed all the social progress we’ve made and invite it all out to the pub? It could be a utopia where those of every race, gender, and sexuality feel safe drinking and smoking themselves to death together in the dingy confines of a windowless old boozer.
Since Sir Tim’s self-published tirade, new PM Burnham has pledged to cut pub tax by 20% as one of his thousands of soundbites designed to keep every corner of the electorate reluctantly subdued. It’s funny seeing the top comments online; where it used to be Kier-haters tearing him apart for wrecking the hospitality industry, it’s now accusations that Burnham offensively believes the most prominent aspect of working-class culture to be alcohol. I’m aware they’re probably not the same people making these comments (they probably are), and as the only guy I know who kinda liked Kier at all (no, I won’t elaborate) I’ve become pretty used to any sensible policy being sniffed at at the least, used as assassination justification at the most. The following issue of Spoons News was decidedly quiet on the subject - Tim’s obviously twiddling his thumbs tryna figure out how to still get angry at this (such is his job). You and me both, Tim, you and me both.
Burnham’s basically having a better pop at what Kier tried and failed to do - cover all bases, not make anyone super happy, but make nobody mad enough to slap him on the guillotine. I’m sure he does genuinely like Rum Sodomy & The Lash and that his northern accent isn’t entirely put on, but his face is far too clean for any of us to trust him 100%. Then again, he doesn’t have 100% power over the country. Are we seeing democracy for what it was originally meant to be: imperfect rulers with limited power? Rather than this insane populism that gives us more dopamine in one day than a caveman felt in his entire lifetime (not verified - I’m sure prehistoric chief dynamics were fuckin mindblowing).
I was on a half-date with an immigrant of only a couple years when she started complaining about the local Somalians. I felt my groin swell at the sheer audacity. There’s a compartment of my sexuality that likes mean women, and callous political generalisations really fire that furnace up. It didn’t work out. Nonetheless, it’s nice to just feel a bit of racism in the body rather than let it work its way up to the mind. If I denied myself a semi over a ruthless woman, who knows what I might start genuinely believing? Seeing as how willing I am to expound on what I feel is the almost scientifically proven greatness of drinking and smoking (for British people, at least) it’s probably appropriate that I have as few political convictions as possible. Keep ‘em in the genitals, I say. That way they go away when you have a wank.
At least my shoulders relax a bit at the thought of how fun our prohibition bars might be. Smokey speakeasies with corrugated metal ceilings and weekly raids. If Burnham is indeed another shill of the globalist elite, simply biding his time with small freedoms before snatching them away again, I’m confident that the British spirit will find a way - hopefully the beer and the wine too.
Mr. Martin lightly concedes that alcohol can maybe occasionally be a bit bad for you I guess (I’m paraphrasing)... he’s right about one thing: it sure ain’t poison, not most of the time anyway. I’d be disappointed if I poisoned someone and all that happened was they were funnier to be around and then got laid. Money back please!!