Dogwash

In one of Woolwich's rougher, well even rougher than usual for Woolwich, vertical drinking establishments many years ago, a regular informed me that in the pub's yet rougher past, there had at one time been a gutter in front of the bar, allowing dedicated cider drinkers to, shall we say, reclaim bladder capacity without interrupting the steady rhythm of lifting mug to lips.

I suspected, then as now, that this might well have been an old toper's tale for the bedazzlement of the gullible. I manfully finished my pint of Gnatz P, bade my transient companion a cordial farewell, and strode forth into the night, thinking no more of it.

I was reminded of this incident the other day when, entering an unfamiliar but respectable looking hostelry, I was confronted by the notice

NO STOOLS AT THE BAR

For a brief moment I found myself seriously wondering what kind of clientele the establishment attracted that such an admonition might become necessary.