I’ve had the best of times and the worst of times
I’ve had the best of times and the worst of times playing pub loner. Well no, not actually the best of times, sitting by yourself in a pub is still sitting by yourself in a pub. Nobody will disturb you if you are reading comics, is the main thing I’ve found.
What I tend to do nowadays if I’m on my tod in a pub is read the paper - guaranteed nondisturbance if it’s a broadsheet because you can hide behind it - or write. But as Emma implies, it’s only acceptable to do either of these if you’re in a pub with some very small tables: if so you can take one in the knowledge that it would otherwise be occupied by a couple, and present company excepted couples are bad for pubs because they tend to either coo or argue.
Every time I try to write something in the pub though I am uncontrollably reminded of how forgotten useless poet Murray Lachlan Young once rolled up in the Uxbridge and proceeded to write his doggerel at a table, barefoot. Bad enough when the Office Hippy insists on going barefoot at work, but in a pub? Madness, madness and thrice madness. What a twat.
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