Go to the Pub

You’re at the pub, and it’s just after the bit of The Pub where it’s quiet – crowds go in waves on Friday nights, and there is the first rush-out-of-the-office crowd, lads with messenger bags knocking fully into you while you try to carry three drinks back because they are too busy saying “so… weekend plans?” to a table of mostly silent colleagues; the 7PM “right, I’m off!” bit, where mortgage-commuters with folded up Bromptons try to navigate a heaving 600-strong bar queue in a hi-vis vest; the first ebb of the night, where the crowd dissipates a little, quietens into drinkers who’ve been there since 4PM and people who think ‘Pizza Express then home?’ is a decent way to round off the evening; then the roar, which depends on the overall vibe of the pub (quiet backstreet pub: descend into a buzzing stupor; main road walk-in pub: for some reason a DJ at the front has been arranging wires for 100 minutes while a disco light goes off), but essentially is the moment the pub accelerates and whirrs up to the true meaning of itself, the most pub The Pub will get. Do you: