“If You’re Drinking Outside At The Pub, I’m Not Going”
Picture this: it’s Friday night, you’ve just finished work, and you’re heading to the pub for a hard-earned pint. It’s pitch black outside, and the wind is whipping around the bare trees. You’ve bundled up in countless layers, with your chin firmly tucked into the top of your scarf to stay warm – the promise of a roaring fire at the other end keeping you going as you trudge through the streets. Only, when you arrive, one of your friends suggests the unthinkable: “Shall we get a table outside?”
The culprit
Perhaps they’re a smoker, or they find it ‘too loud’ inside – whatever the reason, they are wrong. One of the greatest joys in life is being cosy inside while outside is miserable. I would go as far as to say that civilisation peaked when we invented the roof. There is a deeply satisfying, perhaps evolutionary, quality to seeking shelter. Rejecting that shelter to sit on a damp wooden bench isn’t ‘hardy’; it’s a regression.
megan nygaard/dupe
I have a strong suspicion that the friend who suggests going outside is the same friend who is always ‘too hot’ and opens the window on the tube to, ironically, allow in some ‘fresh’ air. My advice? Wear a T-shirt. You don’t have to impose the elements on the rest of us just because you didn’t want to check the weather app. The beauty of layers is that you can take them off. As someone who feels the cold for six months of the year, I’m fed up with freezing because of others’ poor wardrobe planning.
I would go as far as to say that civilisation peaked when we invented the roof.
Natasha, Digital Editor
The logistics
Then there is the coat conundrum. A pub is a place to unwind, relax, and settle in. You cannot physically relax while trussed up in a wool trench coat, a scarf, and gloves. You end up looking like the Michelin Man holding a Merlot. True luxury is the ability to take your outerwear off. If I can’t bend my elbows enough to lift my glass without hearing the friction of fabric, I am not having a good time.
“But there are heaters!” you cry. Let’s talk about those. The outdoor patio heater is the most gaslighting invention in hospitality. It turns you into a rotisserie chicken, cooking the top of your scalp to a crisp while your feet slowly turn into blocks of ice. You are simultaneously sweating and shivering. Plus, nothing kills the punchline of a joke more than the overhead lamp’s timer suddenly clicking off, plunging the group into darkness and forcing someone to stand on a chair to hit the button.
Often, this desire to brave the cold is driven by the tyranny of smokers. For too long, we have let the nicotine habits of one person dictate the thermal comfort of the group. Why must five non-smokers freeze so that one person can have a cigarette? Go stand in the rain for five minutes and come back. We will be here, warm and smug, guarding your seat.
Why must five non-smokers freeze so that one person can have a cigarette?
tracy saad/dupe
The verdict
This is my manifesto, the hill I will die on. If we arrive at the pub and the inside is full, we aren’t ‘making do’ with the garden. We are leaving. We are going to a different pub. Or better yet, we are going to my living room. It has central heating, an open bar, great music, and zero wind chill.
