13 JUNE 1981, Page 27

Low life

Barred

Jeffrey Bernard

The Middle East peace talks aren't the only ones to have foundered a little. The Middle West ones have too. I refer, of course, to those in the Fulham Road: Last Saturday's mission to the Queen's Elm to try to get my friend Jeremy reinstated was a complete failure and my talks with the guvnor were really exhausting. How much longer I can take the strain of playing this Kissinger role, God only knows. My other negotiations to try to get my publisher, Jay Landesman, back in the Coach and Horses have also failed although I was really up against it there since I wasn't just dealing with Norman Balon but a lobby from Private Eye as well.

Some time ago, I wrote in that journal that .Soho publicans were on the verge of starting a transfer system as used by football clubs and I'm still trying to get that one off the ground. It was Charlie Stevenson's idea in the first place and it occurred to him when he was running the Swiss Tavern. He offered Gaston Berlemont f100 to take Graham back. Gaston refused the offer and it became a matter of crisis since no other club — sorry, I mean pub — in Soho would have him either. Happily for Graham he was eventually given a free transfer to the White Swan, a second division pub on the verge of Covent Garden. The trouble with these peace-keeping missions is that sometimes when they are successful and someone is reinstated you never see them again. Since the White Swan let Bobby back some six months ago he has been in there night and day. At the moment I'm not barred from anywhere but I have barred myself from a pub in Poland Street — the name escapes me — for being ripped off.

Be warned. They charged me £1.65 for a large vodka, dash of lime and soda. I was a mite taken aback and the manager said, 'That's the price, if you don't like it you can get out. This is the West End you know.' Well, I told him I didn't need his geog raphical expertise, having knocked about the West End man and boy for 35 years, and added that I could get the same for 90p in the Coach and Horses. He then bet me £5 I couldn't. I said, 'How the hell do you think I got to look like this then?'

Oh dear, oh dear. If you want a draft argument go to a pub. I remember being barred from the aforementioned Swiss Tavern on the night Chataway beat Vladimir Kutz. I had a row with the guvnor about athletics and it culminated in me throwing an egg and lettuce roll at him and he retaliating with a hard-boiled egg. This game very nearly caught on and a few days later Robert Colquhoun quite justifiably poured a pint of bitter over Auntie May who ran the Crown and Two Chairmen.

Deep down though, the gravest offence you can commit in a publican's eye is to drink in another pub. These strange creatures are more possessive than women. They also effect an exaggerated aversion to swearing. The times I've been told, 'D'you mind, sir. There's ladies in the bar.' On every occasion I've had to bite my tongue off to avoid inquiring, 'Where?'

Of course, there are a few exceptions and Gaston is one. He simply packs people off home if they're tight and tells them to come back the next day. But I don't hold out much hope for Jeremy getting back to the Queen's Elm. When a publican puts on the black cap and passes the dreaded sentence of 'barred for life' it's very rarely you can get remission — even if you come into money — and a case in point was when I urinated over the flower bed outside the aptly named Peacock in Chelsworth, Suffolk.

Very rarely it's possible to turn the tables and the classic instance was when the Roberts Colquhoun and McBryde barred the guvnor of the now defunct Greyhound on the corner of Soho and Oxford Streets from his own pub. He was an old Irish boozer and one night he was so drunk they simply told him, 'We're sorry but you'll have to drink up and go.' He left looking very dejected and presumably walked up the road to the now also defunct Mooney's.

No, there should be a little more give and take. If they sell you the stuff they shouldn't be too shocked at the odd expletive or manic bout. Incidentally, there are going to be two one-hour extensions on the day of The Wedding. I should think I'll be pretty busy trying to get Jeremy reinstated in quite a few after that.