"Four pints coming up. You have a nice day now."

It’s Saturday, which means it’s Pub Day. Aah, the pub. Great place. Not necessarily because of the booze – you can get that at home – but for the wonderful quirkiness that is the English pub experience. Some American friends visited us a few weeks ago. They were new to England and it was weird trying to describe to them the peculiarities of the pub, “No, you can’t look through the window first to see what it’s like inside – that’s as bad as peering into somebody’s house”. “Yes, it is normal to cover the walls with all those trombones, horse brasses and bits of old ship” And: “Don’t mind the guy behind the bar – pub landlords are always over-familiar and tend to take the mick.” Can you imagine how the American version of the pub would be? “Hello, my name’s Stan. I’ll be your pub landlord today. Our specials are lager and lime and John Smiths on hand pump, and I can recommend the pie and mash. Oh - you’ll have the Sunday roast. Would you like over-cooked roasties or lumpy mash with that?” Give me grumpy, mickey-taking publicans with a tendency to take unreasonable dislikes to their customers any day. Yes, you know who you are.