On Sunday I found myself in a deeply fashionable drinking establishment. I could tell it was trendy by the decor that put one in mind of a Turkish prison and the fact that the achingly hip beer was only served by the bottle. A glass wasn't an option.
I used to work in Aldershot, and the pubs there would frequently stop serving beer in glasses. But rather than as a means to achieve a write-up in Time-Out, it was usually because the Army had returned for the weekend, and the town had become a no-go zone for anyone not a member of the appropriate regiment.
Ah, Aldershot. I have many happy memories of peering out of the window of my office and looking down at the herds in the mist. Herds of prams being pushed along by despondant-looking young women. Such was the quantity of lone mothers with substantial broods of offspring that Aldershot had a store called "Pram-World". I kid you not.
But on Sunday I wasn't in Aldershot. I was in a night-spot frequented by The Beautiful People. And me. Fortunately I was accompanied by B, who is without doubt one of The Beautiful People. Later, she piloted us to even hipper bar. I knew this, because as well as serving bottles of beer without glasses, the music was so loud it made my ears bleed.
