Mine’s a pint of tap water

Having returned from my morning 10k – another PB!! – I’m ready to do just about anything today. Soon, I’ll be posting a few selfies so you can see just how gorgeous I look in running gear (at least I think I do) and, just to add to the fun, I’ll be posting a picture from my app to show off the entire route I ran. Yes, what a run that was and what a dream. In fact, I get tired driving 10k these days, never mind walking it.

I was far more interested in seeing the front page of today’s Telegraph which reveals the excellent news that in less than two months pubs are going to be open again. As far as I am concerned, I can’t wait to get out there again, paying £4/£5 or £6 a pint when now I can pay six quid for four pints delivered to my door by Morrison’s. Still, we should be thankful for small mercies. And a new world has opened for us: we can now legally drive to our favourite country pubs, drink as much as we like and drive home quite legally. For no alcohol will be on sale.

I mean, really? I am not saying my entire existence revolves on alcohol consumption – I have to sleep sometimes – but I have this old fashioned idea that the entire point of pubs is to sell booze. For me, there’s not much better in life than a midwinter trip to the Hunter’s Lodge at Priddy for some bread and cheese and a few pints of ale straight from the barrel. By the same token, an evening on King Street in Bristol on a summer’s evening is the nearest thing I know to heaven. Actually, it’s better because at least King Street exists. When I am with family and friends, an expensive night on the lash is as good as life gets. But an alcohol-free night? Not so sure about that one.

“So what’s it going to be, then?” asks the friendly mutton-chopped landlord.

“Can I have a pint of tap water, two diet cokes, one with ice, an orange juice and lemonade…”

“A pint?”

“No, a half, please. Plus a tomato juice, a J20 and a Beck’s blue.”

“That’ll be £35.79, Sir.”

“What? That’s as expensive as buying booze and there’s no duty on soft drinks.”

“Yes, but we have overheads, staff to pay; that kind of thing. Enjoy your drinks, Sir.”

“Hmm. Fat chance.”

Eight bottles of Beck’s blue – trust me: Beck’s blue is even worse than regular Beck’s. It’s urine for the soul – and you want to be sick, safe in the knowledge that you will be virtually incontinent the following morning.

Seriously, I am not going to the pub if I can’t have something alcoholic. I have ample supplies of Pepsi Max, Fanta Zero and Morrison’s fizzy mineral water to get by on until pubs start selling what they are supposed to sell.

Anyway, whingeing aside, I’m off for another 10k in half an hour. Not really, though. And I’d really hope that if I lost my mind one day and started posting photos of myself in unsightly lycra outfits, I’d like to think you’d feel as nauseous as I do looking at yours.

Cheers!