Wetherspoons

Last night, I went with a couple of friends to our local, Wetherspoons. We chilled out, had a few drinks then went home. It seemed quite a shock to come from the mass drinking culture at university to Wetherspoons, a humble location in comparison. Overall, it was a good night – but one thing took me by surprise. I got asked for ID. In Leicester, I rarely produce my driving licence. In fact, it made me think of when I turned eighteen.

Can you remember when you bought your first beer? And not just over the counter in a Tesco, but your first time in a pub? I’m sure lots of people reflect back and recall a distant summer in a Cornish pub (possibly in Devon). Surrounding by family and friends, they sipped upon a cool cider, revelling in the picturesque backdrop.

I turned eighteen in February, in a boarding school. With a couple of mates, I snuck out after nine to the local pub, careful to avoid patrolling teachers. We were met by silence at the pub – it was a Monday in Warminster.  No worries, great atmosphere! I ordered a pint at the bar. What brand? I looked at the nearest tap. I’ll have a Guinness - rookie mistake. Oh, and sure here’s my ID. The barman handed it back without a word. I hesitated. Did you notice it’s my birthday today? He grunted in reply. It was a pretty poor Guinness and I haven’t ordered one since.

Okay, so my first pint was pretty anti climatic. It wasn’t perfect – but not many things are. Indeed, when we try something for the first time, it’s rarely ever that great. Whether it’s the experience, the feeling or the after effect, it’s never quite ideal. Whether it’s when we try a new dish for the first time or read a new book, it might taste or feel awkward, but it will get better if we stick with it.

When I started playing guitar, I was awful. Not only could I barely play a decent chord, I got calluses on my fingers. It was easy to get disillusioned, but I stuck with it. Four years later, I passed my Grade Eight Guitar with a merit – the tips of my fingers are rock.

In this sense, I believe I’ve matured at least a little bit. My first pint at eighteen was awkward, my subsequent ones at university were indulgent and almost regretful at times – how did I approach drinking last night? As stated, we had a quiet evening with a pint. When asked for ID, I didn’t rebuke them but accepted it as part of their job. I didn’t feel the need to stay out longer than I did. Admittedly, the odds were against us – a night out in Salisbury is bad by any measure, on a Tuesday it is categorically poor. But the point is that I can now approach drinking differently, in a more mature way. 

It’s not until after the pain or hangover that we realise the value of something, but it’s equally important that we break through the initial barriers and obstacles to achieve something.