BRITISH INNS 5: THE CLOWN'S HEAD

THE BRITISH PUB

For centuries the great British Pub has been the traditional centre of social life in most communities. It has been a place to relax, take your ease and enjoy good conversation with friends. These pubs welcomed anybody - old or young, male or female, smoker or non-smoker - to sit and enjoy the simple activities and facilities. In recent years these traditional values have been eroded or changed beyond recognition - many have become little more than glorified eateries, hideous themed bars or [worse] deafeningly loud ‘vertical drinking’ corrals void of anybody over thirty years old. The nationwide smoking ban has just about finished off the normal pub camaraderie. These pieces were written as a tribute to a disappearing tradition, and supported some fictitious Inn Sign designs I made which can be seen on my flickr site. http://www.flickr.com/photos/7911705@N07

This is one of those Inns

THE CLOWN’S HEAD

British monarchs have a disturbing predilection for decapitation, which is why Kings Heads and Queens Heads public houses are found in abundance throughout the land. Clown’s Heads are assuredly rare – indeed this pub name is probably unique. Just round the corner from ‘The Clown’s Head’ is this north-western holiday resort’s somewhat shoddy imitation of the Eiffel Tower. This is singularly appropriate since the Blackpool Tower houses a small zoo and hosts a quite entertaining little circus.

The Clown’s Head is a quintessential northern seaside hotel – loud, slightly seedy but indomitably cheerful. The bar, which is open until 11 pm to the general public, is rather cramped, and the twenty or so resident holidaymakers soon learn to commandeer a seat early before the roistering day-trippers leave the beach and the fish and chip shops or restaurants in search of booze.

You’ll certainly know when they arrive. If you’re a man on your own looking for a bit of uncomplicated fun you’re in luck, my friend. Because here they are – three young Scottish lasses in high good humour complete with well-filled crop tops, almost absent micro-mini skirts and sombreros with ‘Kiss Me Quick, Squeeze Me Slow’ writ very large on a band round the crown. Just let me say if you settle for just that you’re missing out on the main chance. They’re certainly up for much more than that, particularly if you’re willing to supply a drink or two. Three and she’s anybody’s – and those are her words.

So beckon her over, demand your kiss and squeeze, settle her comfortably on your lap [mmm … nice] and shout your order over to the bar staff [and hers of course]. I’d recommend you order the drinks in multiples of at least three to avoid ‘unsettling’ your bonnie lassie. You wouldn’t want her to find another vacant lap whilst you were at the bar!

The ‘turns’ should start soon and tonight we’re expecting a once-famous comedian notorious for blue jokes and a peroxide-blond singer dripping with cheap jewellery who once appeared on a TV talent show. She didn’t win. Many drinks and severely damaged ears later, the turns have finished, the bar staff consult their watches with increasing frequency and its time for bed. If you’ve played your cards right you won’t be lonely. It’s a good place for lonely, homely but passably generous men with a penchant for co-operative and playful Scottish lasses.

However, don’t stay at the Clown’s Head if you like good food – or indeed if you like food at all. Not only is it lousily cooked but the portions are not sufficient to satisfy a juvenile gnat. I’d swear the breakfast eggs were pigeon’s eggs. You will no doubt have to make good use of local restaurants, cafes and, of course, the traditional – and delicious - Fish and Chip shop which is only two doors down, thankfully.