The End of Happy Hour

British people really don’t need an added incentive to turn to drink. Its awesome power to smooth out the rough edges and dull the pain is all you need. They lied to you when they informed you that all you needed was love. No, it’s chardonnay. Or quite possibly whisky. Whatever your tipple of choice happens to be.

So when it was announced that happy hour was waving goodbye forevermore no one was all that surprised. Sure, a few hard core drunks put up a token fight. They refused to let their cut price booze without at least some form of resistance. It wasn’t exactly difficult to subdue them, they just had to break out the shiny things and they were easily distracted. However, that was all the actual outcry that occurred.

Now every hour spent at the pub is so much happier. On average. Taking away that special time when the deals come out to play means that every drop of sweet alcohol is savoured that little tiny bit extra more. Or that is the hope at the very least.

Perhaps we’ll revert to the days akin to prohibition when drinking became a fun craze where you got to flout the law and get pissed all at the same time. As well as getting to listen to jazz and being a very cool cat indeed. This is what my time on Wikipedia has taught me anyway. Banning a thing just makes it that bit likelier to happen, just look at drugs.

Now pub landlords will be able to writhe around in the vast amounts of cash earned by the lack of special offers. Because, as we’ve already investigated, nothing will separate us from our intoxicants. They’ll make more profit which will drip down into the general economy and eventually mean that homeless women can have uninhibited access to free tampons. I think that’s what someone slurred at me last night.

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