Tony Blews

The Rovers Return

Apparently one of Britain's most loved pubs is set to close. People are up in arms about this.

Sadly, the public house in question is a fictional one. From a soap. From a crap soap set in a ficticious part of an alleged Manchester.

"Oh," but these people moan, "you can't get rid of the Rovers!"

"Oh," I hope, "you fecking well do!"

I'm sorry, but the sort of sad bastards that campaign to save a fictional pub are the sort of people that should be excluded from our elections. Actually, I'd go so far as to say they should be excluded from the right to breathe.

If these couch-bound halfwits actually turned off their television sets and went out for a drink, maybe they'd realise that the pub trade is dying. And it's all their fault. Pubs are empty because of people sitting at home watching illusionary lives in illusionary pubs. Get out and live the life! Get a life!

You stopped us from smoking in the pub, so now come and drink in the smoke-free atmosphere. Alone, because we are all outside. In the smoking area which you have no right to be in, so just stay out. Ok?

Anyway, there are more important things in life to worry about than the demise of a fictional Manchester pub which somehow defies the laws of space and time (the toilets would actually be in next door's kitchen).

So I hope your Rovers Return becomes a Mexican restuarant, or a Chinese, or flats. It has happened to my local in the past, and I hope it happens to "yours".