Pub bouncers have turned into fashion police
They won't let folks in to drink in peace
For wearing jeans, trainers or baseball caps.
What inspired this disturbing lapse
In reason? Since when was it high treason
To wear comfortable pumps in the pub
Quietly drinking beer and eating grub?
If I'm there when trouble's startin'
I want kickin' with soft-shoes; not Doc Martins.
It's your loss for dictating what I wear
I'll take my humble custom elsewhere
Hope your other punters follow suit;
Treat people like lepers and we'll all shoot
Off to places that'll still let us in
Even when we turn up clad in denim.
It's your loss. I'll wear what I like.
I don't give a toss. Go take a hike.
DRESS CODE - alternative version.
The bouncers won’t let me wear what I like
They think they have a nightclub
They told me to go and take a hike
From an ordinary little pub.
I could get in with steel toe-capped boots
And wearing designer business suits
If I was going to give someone a kickin;’
I’d do more damage with a Doc Martin
Than with my trainers on in there.
It was a good pub once, but now its gone.
They let me in no matter what I had on.
Now I’m happy to take my night out elsewhere
In a pub where no one cares what I wear
And I can get in without a tie.
It’s a shame when madness makes a good pub die.
(The first version of the poem was inspired by a visit to the Wetherspoons Bar in Manchester, (see my web page on PUBS IN MANCHESTER) where they have a dress code normally associated with snobbish night-clubs. I sent a copy of the poem to the pub management. They never replied. Wonder why).
The second draft was written in an attempt to recapture the first from memory when I couldn't access it.
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