Publican Fined over Froth Collars

Guy Lambert

10 minutes ago

5 min read

Youngsters (under about 70) may be puzzled by this subject. Also true of most of those over 70 but this was a genuine headline in my local paper (remember them) in the 1960s.

This was around the time I and my pals began under-age drinking c1969 and this appeared in my local rag, avidly consumed by my parents and family every week, the Heswall and Neston News and Advertiser (now RIP). A friend of ours who was a couple of years older had a job there as an ace local reporter and had a real job with a company car. Worse, the car was an utterly cool sports car - a MG Midget.

Whether he was responsible for that story is lost to history, nor whether he was the author of two stories on the same front page at that time which both shared the shocking story that a woman from Heswall had lost £2. Perhaps lost or perhaps stolen. Again, nobody knows. Where's Sherlock when you need him?

Well, the froth collar sin has survived, at least in Switzerland. It was resolved in the UK by pint glasses becoming oversized with "1 Pint" printed on the side of the glass so a publican could no longer delivering only 90% of a pint of nectar (or gnat's piss, as we complained) for 2 bob in the lounge or 1s10d in th public bar. Even hardened teenage boozers like us could get well sozzled for a quid.

I am doing a mini-blog for my trip to Italy. Switzerland of course came after France and France after Dover. There was a very British closure of the M20 so I was running things very tight when I reached the White Cliffs. I was anticipating that there might be an infestation of imbeciles in balaclavas but they heard I was leaving the country and called operations off -job done. I also expected delays at passport after lurid stories earlier this year. I gave my passport to the French Passport man. He checked it found me on his list of desirables and gave it back instantly with a smile. The Brit obviouly thought Good Riddance and waved me through without checking the passport.

The only excitement was a fight between a Mazda sports car and a bus that was trying to turn around. To be fair, the bloke in the Mazda was no doubt incensed by two bicycles getting through before him - quite rightly, they should be banned from holding up proper traffic. But fighting with a bus was unwise, especially when the bus man got out and made his opinion clear. Imbeciles in Dover don't all wear balaclavas.

However, I had missed my ship and had the novel experience of being first in the queue for the next one. I have discovered it's worth paying a few quid for the Premium Lounge on DFDS ships. This time I was the only customer so I had a personal butler looking after my needs.

I had elected to avoid Motorways and tolls, and this works like a dream in France. Many of the 'ordinary' roads are semi-deserted dual carriageways and much more interesting than motorways.

I was struck by the enormous flat fields in Northern France as I headed for my first night stop in Reims.

Coming off the flat this loomed ahead. It turned out to be Laon and I couldn't resist a visit.

A lovely old city. Unlike Hounslow they have not won any awards for public realm but they do a lot better with actual public realm!

And the views were better and importantly included a (stone, I was in no danger) polar bear.

My hotel in Reims was Premier Classe which means dead cheap. I was bit alarmed when the McDonalds across the road greeted 2 police mini buses with suitably impressively furnished coppers exiting the buses. No doubt if you know the song The Bold Gendarmes they were hoping to meet a helpless woman or young boys who do no harm to run them in to show them they are the bold gendarmes. The room was OK but I woke up with the first bad back I've had in about 20 years.

So I headed on for Switzerland and I was slightly worried about the border because it is not in the EU. The chap looked at my passport and asked me why I was visiting. I told him and he waved me on. My target was a small town called Orsieres which is up the Alps and nearly in Italy. I carried on on normal roads which turned out to be very tedious, through the centres on Lausanne, Vevey and Montreux with a traffic light and/or roundabout every 170M (I am approximating).

But Lake Geneva was lovely when I could see it

And soon I was in the Alps. Nice traditional hotel and St Bernard pass in the morning. I was offered the choice of the tunnel or the col, and on a glorious morning there was no contest.

At the top there is a kind of village with a dog trail and I suppose a war memorial.

200 M from that was the border to Italy where I was expecting trouble after the kerfuffle about Ceuta, the Spanish enclave in Morocco. There was a border post, but there was nobody there so I sailed through unmolested. Next stop was Maranello. Anybody who knows anything at all would know what Maranello means - Ferrari.

This was a long way away, after lingering in the mountains so after a bit of footling on Italian B roads I took to the Motorways. When I went to pay the toll after a modest distance, the ticket I had obtained when I joined didn't work. There was nobody there of course, but I was holding up the traffic. A woman, or an AI (or should I say SI?) robot ranted at me in what I suppose was Italian. Finally it accepted my credit card and set me free. Later I noticed I had been charged over £100 so I will need to start a complaint in Italian.

Made it to Maranello, which is pretty much to Modena a bit like what Burnham is to Slough but the Prancing Horse dominates the town. The cheap pizzeria where I dined had a Ferrari scarf on the wall above my table, a picture on the toilet door, and a showcase with a few dozen Ferrari dinky toys.

Across the road from my hotel there was a little park. I was too slow to catch the elderly chap being photographed by his wife sitting in this 'Ferrari' there. Note: public realm in Maranello deserves the award given mysteriously to Hounslow!