It could be the economy as a whole or the ever-rising price of a pint within it, but of late the bars seem to echo with talk of fiscal woe. Beer, which might once have offered temporary absolution from the worries of the world, is now an investment in itself. All of which may or may not explain the three elderly gentlemen I saw in a pub one sunny morning, arguing about the cost of winter fuel.
Man 1 (proudly) "I won't have it on timed, either of them. I wait until I need 'em, and then I put 'em on."
Man 2 (frowning) "But I don't see how you can ..."
Man 1 (invoking Man 3 as a witness, and bending grammar to serve his argument)
"You understand – understand him."
Man 3 (shrugs)
Man 2 (doing his best) "But the electric works the gas, surely ..."
Man 1 "Bollocks. I'm not paying for an empty house!"
Man 2 "You can't have the electric on timed, how would it ..."
Man 1 (like someone 60 years younger) "My bill will be less than yours."
Man 2 (giving up, and holding his neck as though in pain) "Yeah, maybe."
Man 1 "What is it, trapped nerve? Something in yer brain?"
Man 2 (wearily) "I dunno."
Man 1 "You've had it a long time, you must know what it is. What does the doctor say?"
Man 3 "He won't go to the doctor."
Man 1 "Won't go to the doctor?"
Man 3 "He's paranoid of tablets."
Man 1 (as though this explained everything) "That is why I'm drinking."