I just caught a clip of Cameron last night, whining that food retailers should have been out and about on the airwaves reassuring punters that they do know their Ass from their El Cow, and they will be more careful in future. Actually my first thought was ‘Why hadn’t the Prime Minister been out and about, addressing the British public on this very subject’ – when was the last time you can remember that he deigned to address the public? Dutch academics, groups of City Bankers, yes, but the voters? We catch a glimpse of him on PMQs if we are minded to…
I want to know whether he ever rode the horse in my Findus lassagne, and I think we have a right to know.
My second thought was – ‘Retailers in the front line, they must take the responsibility for correct labeling of their products’ – that is just creating work for the lawyers, for there is no way a retailer can identify the meat in a frozen lassagne – he can only sue the man who sold it to him. And what of the smaller retailer – they are not all conglomerates. What of the Pub landlord who has diversified into ‘gastro-pub’? He might be capable of telling his Horse Meat steak from his Prime Sirloin – but can he tell his Kangeroo from his Ostriche? His Crocodile from his Zebra? 250 pubs across the midlands are now taking delivery of such delicacies and they are legally responsible, on pain of a fine, to ensure that the frozen package they’ve just placed in the marie-bain is what it says on the label.
Pub landlords have already been appointed faux policemen, highly accountable policemen, backed up by stringent fines, in a variety of ways.
The smoking ban, obviously. £7,500.
That their No Smoking signs measure up to the official requirement. £300.
That there is a ‘Personal Licence Holder’ on the premises at all times – even during family emergencies. £4,000.
That he doesn’t allow the beer pump to be pulled before the allotted hour. £250.
Doesn’t let his customers sing too loudly. £3,600.
Doesn’t sell cigarettes with the health warning in a foreign language (!!!) £3,300.
Doesn’t run a second business – ‘Keepithard’ flogging fake Viagra from the same premises…..£10,000.
Doesn’t build a ‘smoking room’ to comply with smoking regulations but without planning permission. £250.
Doesn’t let his customers watch the football without a license. £5,000.
Doesn’t sell cheap whisky as named brands. £200.
Can tell the difference between a 16 year old and an 18 year old customer on sight….
Only name the correct brand when advertising Olympic coverage during the games. £20,000.
Forgetting to put a note in the fridge saying when the Tiramisu was opened….£6,000.
Not checking that the man who came to take your rubbish away held the correct licence to do so. £200.
Gives correct pension advice to his employees. (Good grief!) £1,500.
Now our Pub landlord has to be able to tell his striped horse from his work horse after its been skinned?
Why don’t we go the whole hog? (Genetically different from Pig!) Call our local landlord the neighbourhood policeman, give him a decent pension, the one the real policemen are so scornful of. Turn the police force into a purely investigative body, (or collators of allegations if you please) and allow the Pub landlord to take his proper place in society as fully accountable (all those fines!) social referee, food inspector, receptor of local knowledge, open at specific times, guaranteed to know the time, neighbourhood policeman?
There’s an idea for you. Anyone want to expand on it?
Ms Raccoon lives in the Monbazillac area of South West France, renowned for its fine wines and gourmet food, so she frequently finds better things to do than sit in front of a computer all morning. She is liable to take off traveling at a moment's notice. Consequently this blog only gets updated these days when it is raining - and it doesn't rain very often round here...
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Of course we do. Everyone seems to agree that pub landlords know loads more important stuff than do our useless politicians, so replace them all with our remaining few publicans. Give them all a go I say – what’s to lose?
In addition, we all know a certain lady landlord who knows more about everything than does dopey old Cameron, so turf that sod out on his fat head too.
For me, it’s Anna for our PM! Way to go folks!
I was in a pub the other day and I noticed a piece of paper attached to a bar post which read…
“The use of illegal drugs in these premises is strictly prohibited”.
I was chatting to a staff member, and I asked the obvious question…
Surely the “use of illegal drugs” is “illegal” and therefore not permitted outside the pub or anywhere else in the UK, so what was the point of the sign…
She told me that the police not only insisted that this and other signs about leaving the premises quietly should be clearly posted, but they prescribed the size (and probably the font) of the notice.
Still I suppose it beats hanging around on street corners watching out for villains…
“Crime doesn’t crack itself folks”.
Pretty much anything these days beats actual crime fighting!
And you might ask, who gave the police the power to insist on such things, at a whim, and without any democratice oversight whatever?
The answer is that they can do whatever the hell they like, and if the landlord doesn’t comply, they’ll “oppose” his licence renewal when it falls due (they don’t need to give any real reason) and that’s it, he’ out of business.
How did we get into such a state?
Is it ALL Blair’s fault?
No more useless, State bankrupting police, Anna? Steady on, old girl. The mere suggestion of stitching a traditionally gaping orifice in the public purse, may be incitement to riot.
I was in a smallish bar in Berlin the other week and everyone was smoking like a chimney. As a Brit I was puzzled but my host explained that she could allow smoking but had to give up all notions of providing foodstuffs. Is she just breaking the law, or is this a correct interpretation of the law? Also, whilst in Berlin, I have been taken to two separate restaurants, both of which had fully internal smoking rooms – a thing I have been led to believe is impossible under the law. The British seem to have a different interpreation of the laws so far as I can tell.
The German landlords successfully sued the German Government over it and there was an agreement that for a bar to be smoking certain requirements had to be met, such as no food and a maximum number of people in a bar. As the chap explained to me, they had listened to politicians once too often in their national history and were not making the same mistake again. The conversation took place in a tobacconists in Kiev.
XX The German landlords successfully sued the German Government over it and there was an agreement that for a bar to be smoking certain requirements had to be met, such as no food and a maximum number of people in a bar. XX
Wrong. They sued the Country Government, NOT the National Government.
It was then decided, that each of the country (Land) Governments could make their own decisions.
Therefore we have a total ban in Bayern, a partial ban in Berlin and Hamburg, and Bremen, at last count, was still a “free for all”.
XX Moor Larkin February 16, 2013 at 11:05
I was in a smallish bar in Berlin the other week and everyone was smoking like a chimney. As a Brit I was puzzled but my host explained that she could allow smoking but had to give up all notions of providing foodstuffs. Is she just breaking the law, or is this a correct interpretation of the law? Also, whilst in Berlin, I have been taken to two separate restaurants, both of which had fully internal smoking rooms – a thing I have been led to believe is impossible under the law. The British seem to have a different interpreation of the laws so far as I can tell. XX
The landlord/owner has the choice. Smoking or non smoking.
Smoking means you can not serve food, and only over 18 year olds have accesss to the premesis. (Non smoking is, as it always was 16)
Bayern and a few other countries are the same as Britain. I.e TOTALY non smoking, with no choice for the landlord. (Funny, that since the ban, the “Oktoberfest” has constantly complained of falling numbers!)
They are always trying to bring a total ban in Berlin, but being a massive honeypot for tourists, the landlords here have been able to argue their case VERY successfully.
We don’t have this problem here as the Smalltown Temperance Society has managed to close all the pubs.
I’ll drink to that Anna. Well said.
Regarding Moor Larkins comment of German Bars. Same in Portugal.
I do sometimes wonder if moral authoritarianism runs matters in the UK, not the law. I owned a boozer on a Portuguese Island for a few years, & great fun it was too. I often wondered , and discussed to possibility of opening one in England , unifying them under one Company and moving stock and cigs/cigars with appropriate VAT invoices to the UK. At the time , no-one could give a definitive answer if it was legal, or illegal.
Perhaps someone on this Blog knows.
And don’t forget that the underage customer who has, with premeditation, attempted to deceive the pub landlord/ bar assistant/ corner shop owner/off-licence shop assistant/ supermarket checkout assistant is NOT fined. However all those assistants can be.
I am not even going to begin my rant about Camerons dummy pass on retailers……. I have had to stop listening to this story on the news because the level of ignorance on display is just too damned annoying.
Therte are so few pubs left, these days, more’s the pity. It is as if there has been a cull. A pity.
See! I have found a new vocation for them!
Let’s face it, Pub landlords have had years of experience of appearing to believe anything…’You don’t say? Really? He never did! ‘The dirty bastard!”.
Statement taking accompanied by a nice gin and tonic – perfect for the elderly matron with a fear of being disbelieved…..
I understand that food DNA testing is not simple in that you have to decide what species you want to test for, you can’t just read off the constituents at the end of the test.
In other words, testing ‘Beef’ for ‘Horse’ might produce a negative result but the meat could, in fact be 100% ‘Zebra’!
The Irish discovery of ‘Horse’ was only made because they were trying out their new kit and ‘Horse’ was selected by chance.
Whatever else it is in the politicians, lawyers and maybe the big retailers interest to introduce more testing; more rules, more fees, higher costs, higher prices and guess who pays!
If Jimmy Savile et al can’t tell the difference between a 14 year old and a 16 year old, apparently, how is a pub landlord supposed to tell the difference between a 16 year old and a 18 year old, pray tell? I saw Psycho when I was twelve, marched right up to the ticket window and no questions asked. You were supposed to be 17 I think.
@mewsical
This old chestnut has now been addressed by UK Inc. Tesco (a supermarket chain) policy is now that you must *appear* to be 30 in order to purchase alcohol. Otherwise you must produce id to prove you are over 18. My 29-year-old son was refused service last summer. Fortunately I was able to pass muster…..
Sainsbury’s, another chain, has a note near the tills reminding customers that they must APPEAR to be 25 (I think) in order to automatically be served without providing id.
The lesson seems to be that we should be careful what we wish for…….
I ‘appeared’ to be at least 16 when I was 13 – I haven’t been ‘carded’ for a long time here in the States, and it’s pretty uncommon if you ‘appear’ to be the required age. Well, I was asked for ID by a female checker in the local supermarket a couple of years back. I thought she was joking.
Bars in the US ask you to show a drivers license or passport–even if you are gray haired.
I imagine the ladies take it as a compliment……….
Many moons ago, while working in Massachusetts, I was obliged to get a ‘liquor licence’. I had to show a birth certificate and a passport and bring along a photograph. A liquor licence entitled anyone 21or over to buy booze in a liquor store, enter a bar and order wine in a restaurant. In order to hold parties the few of us who had liquor licences had to go in, buy the required amount of alcohol ( we were students so that was a LOT) and stagger out the door and out of sight of the owner of the liquor store before getting any help to carry it: ‘Oh yes sir, the 2 pallets of beer, 2 bottles of southern comfort, bottle of vodka, bottle of bicardi and 3 bottles of cheap chardonney are all for my personal consumption’. Ah, good times. I’d PAY someone now to ask me for ID.
‘…decent pension, the one the real policemen are so scornful of”.
No police officer with any length of service is ‘scornful’ of their pension in my considerable experience of the subject – the numbers of serving officers I know personally numbers in the hundreds and while it is true that the service is, in general terms, “taking it, dry”, at the moment, courtesy of the unholy alliance of Theresa May and Thomas Winsor, none, in my experience, would suggest that what they eventually recieve is a pittance, in comparison with other occupations. To be able, currently, to receive a pension after 30 years service is a privilege. The Government have seen to that for some, however, so perhaps those who are now faced with the prospect of working until sixty may be less than delighted at this turn of events.
What those involved aren’t all that delighted about is the Government’s treatment of the pension; the mandatory 3.2% increase in contributions – on top of ethe original non-negotiable 11% contribution – in contrast to MP’s and others, like members of the armed forces who make no contribution whatsoever to theirs (and I have been one of the latter group, so am speaking from a factual basis, not ‘having a go’).
They are likewise less than delighted to have these changes thrust upon them, with only that lame duck the Police Federation to fight their corner. Other irritations, like the discontinuance of the Competency Threshold Payment (which is pensionable) from 2015 are likewise guaranteed to upset – as they would anyone in any form of occupation whatsoever – if it was happening to them but… “scornful”? Never!
I’ve been waiting for the right occasion to play my new violin, Frankie. Hang on, it may be in my other coat pocket….
Pension provision generally is an absolute mess. Trying to achieve some sort of parity between some publicly-funded pensions, company pension schemes and private pensions will take years, if it can ever be achieved.
I do sympathise with public servants who are having the terms and conditions they thought they signed up to summarily changed, the position for some having to fund their own pensions is far worse. The removal of some tax advantages, the charges levied by pension providers (some of whom border on shark-like rapacity), and the spectacular decrease in annuity rates over recent years has left many facing substantially smaller pensions than they were led to expect.
This inequality should not be addressed by making public servants’ pensions worse, but the fact that many private pension holders are also the taxpayers contributing to the public pension pot should be a consideration. We might be getting somewhere when everybody, public or private sector, can fund a decent pension for themselves without being a burden on the taxpayer, but we’re a very long way indeed from that ideal. Until then, the unfairnesses will continue.
Can tell the difference between a 16 year old and an 18 year old customer on sight….
………….
You can see by my piccy that I am untouched by the ravages of time – and in the ample flesh, I look even younger, despite the fact that I have had the fortnight from hell, hot on the heels of 3 months of exhaustive stress, hot on the heels of one helluva bad 4 1/2 years.
Tonight I plan to get drunk and I plan to start by hitting the gin. Then I plan to demand Smudd takes me to the nearest and roughest hostelry where I shall announce to the gathered throng that tonight is my 17th birthday. I shall then loll on a tiny stool at the bar wearing my best ‘come-hither’ expression and order 8 pints of Snakebite and thirteen bags of PorkyShrapnel. If, even once, the landlord or any of his minions questions that it is my 17th birthday I shall come out with my fists flailing. I am in just the right mood for a rolling punch-up and Heaven help anyone who gets in my way tonight. And I shall be wearing a boob-toob and jeggings, so even without the fight, it won’t be pretty.
And I’m going to light up once I’m in the pub, quoting M. Larkin at 11:05 and F. Tutonics at 19:18 and, with the mood I’m in (and the fact that I’ll be wearing a tin breastplate and a Viking hat with enormous horns on it), I’ll not take NO-YOU-CAN’T -SMOKE-IN-HERE for an answer … let them quarrel with me once I’ve raised my platic double-headed axe aloft. I hope the sight of a 17-year-old Les Dawson look-a-like with her dander up will be enough to get me chuffing on me fags at the bar but if it isn’t, I’ll just smile a mysterious smile and then hurly my PorkyShrapnels all over them and trundle outside for a ‘smerk’.
You are mad…right?
GOOD!
(Vikings, outside of Hollywood, did not have double headed axes, bye the way. NOR did they have horned helmets.)
Care I about the historial pedigree of double-headed axes? Or horned helmets? No, not one whit. I’ll wield a home-fashioned tri-bladed scissor-based contraption if needs be, or even a pair of blunt knitting needles, I’m that dangerous tonight. So don’t try to get in front of me in the karaoke queue or blood will be spilled. So GRRRRRRRRRRR to allcomers and if you are faint of heart, weak of limb or just want a quiet night out, then BE WARNED -Smudd’s at the The Vicious Vixen tonight and already had control of the karaoke mike . . .
” Feeeeeeelings ….. nothing more than Feeeeeeelings …..”
(it’s as if you were there …)
At first I was afraid I was petrified…….
Gloria
(Gloria)
I think they got your number
(Gloria)
I think they got the alias
(Gloria)
That you’ve been livin’ under
(Gloria)
But you really don’t remember
Was it something that they said?
All the voices in your head
Calling Gloria
Back home now – eight chinese burns, three skinned shins and one watery eye later and I’d say they all got off jolly lightly – I’m still in a stinker of a mood but my gentle side took over tonight – and I held the room with my karaoke rendition of ‘Crazy’ and some people even wept.
The landlord accepted that I was 17 today (he got one of my chinese burrns as I made my way to the bar) and I got a rousing chorus of ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ at 10.30 as mycelabratory sambucca flamed its way towards me through the fractured limbs strewing the way – and I didn’t have to raise so much as a fist!
Here’s to a happier 18th year! (Hic!)
And I was primed to do “Baby Got Back”
Go on, do Baby Back!
“I like big butts and I cannot lie…….
Good. I got one and you narrowly escape a chinese burn. x
Poor Anna will look in and shake her head, as if looking at recalcitrant children.
If law is about the protection of Society and penalty refects the gravity of the offence against those who warrant protection so nice to see 20 long ones for protection of the Olympic Sponsors — twice as bad as pushing hookey drugs (bad boy can’t do the multinationals and the medical profession out of their crust eh! ) and respectively 80 and 40 times the penalty for gosh what!!! defrauding their customers but selling bootleg instead of Johnny Walker —well so nice to think the customer in the bar can look after his interests so easily and invoke the full grandeur of the law with such crushing effect—–but those poor old fragile multi nationals need the state to look after their interests by such a heavy penalty.
Any pub having a ‘policeman’ in it looking like the picture above will be one I shall politely withdraw from as fast as I decently can. I can’t stand displays of knobbly knees.
Don’t go to Bermuda, then!
http://koshercamembert.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/008-crop.jpg
*shudders* – though they do at least have the excuse of slightly warmer climes in Bermuda!
A few years ago I was at a small social gathering of fellow smokers and drinkers. I discovered that I was not the only reader of Leg-Iron’s blog! From a chance mention, the idea of having a ‘smokey-drinky’ spot of our own grew. Friends contacted like-minded friends and eventually the use of a large shed/small barn was given, it’s about 30′ by 18′ or so, with what used to be a disused out-door privy close by. Ample parking was available for a number of cars but careful arranging was required.
Our motley crew includes builders, plumbers, electricians and some remarkably skilled handymen. It was not very long before a rather pleasant room evolved, a couple of old but working fridges, some chairs and stools (some ‘reclaimed’ from the local tip!) and some slightly threadbare carpeting made for a great place to have a few drinks, only the stuff you’d brought along yourself, mind.
Two winters ago our room was unusable because of the cold. One of our more skilled ‘members’ mentioned rocket stove mass heaters. Google it, we all had to. We all chipped in a few pounds and in due course not one but two rocket stove mass heaters were installed, with the bonus of two nice big sofa-style seats for the ladies to warm their parts on! Our Smokey-Drinky is getting better all the time. Three layers of carpet off-cuts behind plywood panels make great insulation.
We all drink only our own booze; beers are name-labelled and are in the one of the fridges, my whisky bottle sits atop my own optic with other people’s bottles arrayed alongside. It looks like a pub, it smells like a pub (smokers and non-smokers alike are in the room, no complaints) and, most of all, it functions like a pub. People gather there because it’s a friendly place to be in, we even have music which we select by ourselves. When was the last time you sat in a warm, smoky pub with a dram of single malt whisky, listening to some Mozart chamber music whilst sitting on a heated sofa?
Everyone, likes it.What one might call ‘membership’ of our group started to grow. The landlord of one of our local pubs came along as a guest one week-day and was astounded at the number of people there. He said we had more people there in one evening than he could expect in an entire week-end! The growing ‘membership’ and our space constraints have resulted in one more ‘Smokey-Drinky’ starting up in someone’s (a widower) converted double garage and it, too, is improving and growing in popularity.
Yes, we have had the vinegar-drinking, lemon-sucking Council ‘Inspectors’ sniffing around. We are on private premises, no alcohol is being sold, we are not a club or any other sort of association, we are just a group of friends. The ‘Inspectors’ are not permitted beyond the threshold. It’s a delight to witness their frustration. And, yes, we have had the local Plod along at the behest of the Council. Both Sergeant XXX and PC XXX now have their own booze in the fridges and/or on their own optics!
We have side-stepped the desire of TPTB to destroy places of social intercourse, we have devised our own place which is outside any of their pernicious rules, regulations and laws. They hate it but can do nothing about it.
Valentine’s Day evening was marvellous, couples, including Herself and me, had a beautiful time.
Start your own Smokey-Drinky, you’ll not regret it and you’ll pay the Government nothing at all and there’s no landlord to be penalised!
Watch out for the old “Planning permission – “Change uf use”" trick.
FT, that aspect has already been considered. There’s no plumbing at all installed in the ‘shed’, no-one stays overnight in the place, no structural alterations have been made and the electricity supply is legal.
There’s no law preventing a bunch of friends from gathering together in a shed (yet)!
Not forgetting the huge fines for employing illegal immigrants.
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