WHO Poll
Q: 2019/20 With seven games to go will West Ham stay up
a. Our demise was sealed when the idiots on the Board appointed Moyes, we're down
b. Despite the efforts of Moyes and the players, we will stay up by the smallest of margins
c. I'm beyond caring & couldn't give two hoots either way

yngwies Cat 9:55 Mon Oct 3
If Who was a pub....
What would it be like? And what sort of regular would you be?

I don't think it's going to be gastro one, but would sell pickled eggs.

Replies - Newest Posts First (Show In Chronological Order)

Too Much Too Young 7:37 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
The clock would obviously make it up as it went along.

Pub Bigot 6:55 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
I dunno why, SOA, but I reckon you either look and/or act like Ray Romano, or Adam from Man vs Food.

Either way, you're probably a cunt.

Son of Anarchy 6:44 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
I knew I was close

mashed in maryland 6:37 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
Replace reading the Guardian with posting on WHO on my phone and you're spot on

Son of Anarchy 6:27 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....

Just like the Duke, I'm a well known popular figure.

You'd be in the Fusion Bar down the street drinking steamed donkey piss reading the guardian.

Cheezey Bell-End 6:08 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
The bar out of Star Wars

Admiral Lard 11:17 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
It would be a milk bar regulated by care assistants

mashed in maryland 9:59 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
SOA would be sat up the bar on his own in a Las Vegas t-shirt trying to talk to everyone about boxing

Son of Anarchy 3:06 Wed Oct 5
Re: If Who was a pub....
It would be like the Duke, all good natured and laughs then after one to many jugs of carlong decend into a complete mess and mockney accents

Lertie Button 9:14 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
Would have shut down long ago - about the time they binned the strippers at lunch time

Hammer and Pickle 9:06 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
Bloody hell BRANDED, that IS Orwell!

Worst Case Ontario 5:16 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....

dicksie3 10:35 Tue Oct 4


Worst Case Ontario 5:11 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
There'd be about 6 blokes, each taking turns in the bogs to change their costumes.

yngwies Cat 4:52 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
*Asks Branded, Stomper and Mart O if they want to join my who pub team, as they appear to be men of learning*

BRANDED 4:47 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
Yeah. Its Orwell. The bit about women still resonates in the WHO pub

yngwies Cat 4:33 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
BRANDED 4:14 Tue Oct 4

Sorry, but No Joanna?

*Tut's makes his way across the sticky carpet to the garden and lights pipe*.

Mart O 4:32 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
Thought exactly the same thing, stomper.

stomper 4:29 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
BRANDED 4:14 Tue Oct 4

That reads like Orwell

BRANDED 4:14 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
My favourite public-house, the Moon Under Water, is only two minutes from a bus stop, but it is on a side-street, and drunks and rowdies never seem to find their way there, even on Saturday nights.

Its clientele, though fairly large, consists mostly of ‘regulars’ who occupy the same chair every evening and go there for conversation as much as for the beer.

If you are asked why you favour a particular public-house, it would seem natural to put the beer first, but the thing that most appeals to me about the Moon Under Water is what people call its ‘atmosphere’.

To begin with, its whole architecture and fittings are uncompromisingly Victorian. It has no glass-topped tables or other modern miseries, and, on the other hand, no sham roof-beams, ingle-nooks or plastic panels masquerading as oak. The grained woodwork, the ornamental mirrors behind the bar, the cast-iron fireplaces, the florid ceiling stained dark yellow by tobacco-smoke, the stuffed bull’s head over the mantelpiece — everything has the solid, comfortable ugliness of the nineteenth century.

In winter there is generally a good fire burning in at least two of the bars, and the Victorian lay-out of the place gives one plenty of elbow-room. There are a public bar, a saloon bar, a ladies’ bar, a bottle-and-jug for those who are too bashful to buy their supper beer publicly, and, upstairs, a dining-room.

Games are only played in the public, so that in the other bars you can walk about without constantly ducking to avoid flying darts.

In the Moon Under Water it is always quiet enough to talk. The house possesses neither a radio nor a piano, and even on Christmas Eve and such occasions the singing that happens is of a decorous kind.

The barmaids know most of their customers by name, and take a personal interest in everyone. They are all middle-aged women—two of them have their hair dyed in quite surprising shades—and they call everyone ‘dear,’ irrespective of age or sex. (‘Dear,’ not ‘Ducky’: pubs where the barmaid calls you ‘ducky’ always have a disagreeable raffish atmosphere.)

Unlike most pubs, the Moon Under Water sells tobacco as well as cigarettes, and it also sells aspirins and stamps, and is obliging about letting you use the telephone.

You cannot get dinner at the Moon Under Water, but there is always the snack counter where you can get liver-sausage sandwiches, mussels (a speciality of the house), cheese, pickles and those large biscuits with caraway seeds in them which only seem to exist in public-houses.

Upstairs, six days a week, you can get a good, solid lunch—for example, a cut off the joint, two vegetables and boiled jam roll—for about three shillings.

The special pleasure of this lunch is that you can have draught stout with it. I doubt whether as many as 10 per cent of London pubs serve draught stout, but the Moon Under Water is one of them. It is a soft, creamy sort of stout, and it goes better in a pewter pot.

They are particular about their drinking vessels at the Moon Under Water, and never, for example, make the mistake of serving a pint of beer in a handleless glass. Apart from glass and pewter mugs, they have some of those pleasant strawberry-pink china ones which are now seldom seen in London. China mugs went out about 30 years ago, because most people like their drink to be transparent, but in my opinion beer tastes better out of china.

The great surprise of the Moon Under Water is its garden. You go through a narrow passage leading out of the saloon, and find yourself in a fairly large garden with plane trees, under which there are little green tables with iron chairs round them. Up at one end of the garden there are swings and a chute for the children.

On summer evenings there are family parties, and you sit under the plane trees having beer or draught cider to the tune of delighted squeals from children going down the chute. The prams with the younger children are parked near the gate.

Many as are the virtues of the Moon Under Water, I think that the garden is its best feature, because it allows whole families to go there instead of Mum having to stay at home and mind the baby while Dad goes out alone.

And though, strictly speaking, they are only allowed in the garden, the children tend to seep into the pub and even to fetch drinks for their parents. This, I believe, is against the law, but it is a law that deserves to be broken, for it is the puritanical nonsense of excluding children—and therefore, to some extent, women—from pubs that has turned these places into mere boozing-shops instead of the family gathering-places that they ought to be.

The Moon Under Water is my ideal of what a pub should be—at any rate, in the London area. (The qualities one expects of a country pub are slightly different.)

But now is the time to reveal something which the discerning and disillusioned reader will probably have guessed already. There is no such place as the Moon Under Water.

That is to say, there may well be a pub of that name, but I don’t know of it, nor do I know any pub with just that combination of qualities.

I know pubs where the beer is good but you can’t get meals, others where you can get meals but which are noisy and crowded, and others which are quiet but where the beer is generally sour. As for gardens, offhand I can only think of three London pubs that possess them.

But, to be fair, I do know of a few pubs that almost come up to the Moon Under Water. I have mentioned above ten qualities that the perfect pub should have and I know one pub that has eight of them. Even there, however, there is no draught stout, and no china mugs.

And if anyone knows of a pub that has draught stout, open fires, cheap meals, a garden, motherly barmaids and no radio, I should be glad to hear of it, even though its name were something as prosaic as the Red Lion or the Railway Arms.

Evening Standard, 9 February 1946

Pancho 3:52 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
No, just you Pig Gibon you fucking fist.

Crassus 3:45 Tue Oct 4
Re: If Who was a pub....
Definitely have a Sunday league football side - blokes of course, birds will be required to wash the balls *cough*

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