Pints, People, and the Point of It All

There was a time when the pub was where Britain happened. Arguments were settled in the car park or over a game of darts and spilled beer, lifelong friendships were forged and local legends born.

Yet, somewhere between lockdown number whatever and the first delivery of warm Sauvignon Blanc to your doorstep, you started gradually forgetting about that pub or bar that you once frequented every Friday or Saturday night. And that's it really, we've allowed the pub, the heartbeat of the town or village, the nation's living room to wither while we guzzle chicken wine in our pyjamas and half-watch the kind of telly that we used to go to the pub to avoid, while scrolling through TikTok and Instagram.

It’s been happening for years, of course. The spreadsheets will tell you it's the rise in cost of living, or healthier lifestyles, or the price of beer, or the rise of Deliveroo. And they’re all a bit right, but none of them are quite it. The truth is, we let it happen quietly, politely, as only the British can by choosing convenience over community. And yet, somehow, when these places have truly gone, we feel it. That big aching space where life used to happen.

And a pub, a real pub, is not about the drink. It never has been. It’s about people. It's the somewhere to go when you’ve nowhere else to be. It’s about knowing that the world still spins, that someone remembers how you like your pint, that someone will look up and nod when you walk in.

But here's the twist. Things are starting to change.

There’s a new kind of pub resurgence taking place. Not a PR campaign from the soulless arms of corporate chains who think that putting “Craft” in front of lager makes it a revolution, but in the hands of chefs and locals who get it. Yes, actual chefs. The ones who once did 90 hour weeks cooking rabbit saddle in Michelin-starred kitchens, now turning up in small villages and towns to bring the boozer back to life.

Let's take The Hollow Bottom in Guiting Power as an example. A racing hotspot. A local legend, in fact. A place where jockeys (on their days off), trainers, stable staff, gamblers, and gentry would stand side by side screaming at one of the two televisions showing the races. And then the lease changed and so did the pub. This was followed a big brewery not understanding its heritage and then in May, like so many pubs in the UK, it closed. 

A couple of months on it's back open, with top chefs Nathan Eades and Liam Goff at the helm, the duo responsible for bringing The Halfway in Kineton back to life in 2023 and more recently putting The Horse and Groom in Bourton on the Hill back on the culinary map with a Bib Gourmand in their first six months of opening. In fact it's just open, but singing, literally. There were over 400 locals there on the night of their "soft launch" last week enjoying the music from local heroes Andrew James and John Neild, the owner of Splash Of Ginge who has a lager named after him in the pub.

And all it needed was someone to give a damn, not just about the pub but its heritage and locals too. 

The horse racing memorabilia, some saved from the skip, has been reinstated to the walls. The food is comforting but clever. The drinks are local but lush with Deya Steady Rolling Man, Hook Norton and North Cotswold ales on the taps and a bar you lean on like an old friend. There's a two-hour happy hour every day for the farmers and stable staff that finish work at 4pm in the winter or are rained off in the summer and a TV showing live sport.

The Hollow Bottom isn’t just a comeback story. It’s a blueprint. Because the pub is not dead, it just needs people who care on both sides of the bar.

Just in the last couple of weeks, Cheltenham has seen two new openings too.

The Beehive, nestled into the pretty Montpellier quarter, was always a popular pub. It's where I, and many others who live far from Cornwall, discovered Rattler. Never again. And then it closed. 

Weeks later it flung its doors back open with new Executive Chef Tom Rains (formerly of The Daffodil and No.3 in town) and new General Manager Richard Shakeshaft (formerly of, oh, The Beehive and back for his second stint) and a bold new vision for what proper pub food should be. 

The Beehive isn’t reinventing the wheel. It’s about making sure the wheel has good tread, rolls smooth, and pairs beautifully with Chef Tom's Pie of the Day, mashed potato and gravy. They have kept the same previous soul with classics on the menu. Nothing too shouty or flashy, just a real kind of pub that feels like a pub, with hearty food, proper ales and decent wines.

You go to The Beehive and remember why pubs matter. Because everyone’s there from young to old, professionals to trades persons, all mix well in a friendly, relaxed atmosphere with a drink in hand.

Away from pubs but something equally important is Parler, Cheltenham's new high-fidelity listening bar. There are no pork scratchings or dart boards, but it plays the same role with community, atmosphere and connection at its heart.

Think turntables, vinyl and cocktails that feel like they've been stirred by Marvin Gaye himself. You walk in to Parler and the world goes quiet except for the music. It’s the kind of bar Tokyo has been perfecting for 30 years, and now we’ve now got one on our doorstep that offers beautiful beer brews from the awesome folk at Deya and flaky, golden pastries and small plates from La Boulangerie Artisan.

And all of this matters.

Because this isn’t just about pints, cocktails and "Chef Tom's" pies. It’s about community. It’s about having a place to go when you’re toasting another orbit around the sun, or celebrating a new job, or when you just want somewhere to sit quietly with a pint of Guinness and watch the rugby. It’s where you meet people you wouldn’t swipe right on. Where you talk to strangers. It's where life happens, unfiltered.

Even Jeremy Clarkson, he of farming and petrol gets it. His Farmer's Dog pub has been open for nearly a year and has been heaving since day one. He’s not doing it for kicks, he’s doing it to create a community of people coming to his pub, to support the locals who contribute to his menu and to sell his own Hawkstone beer, of course. 

We need to support them. Not once a year for a Christmas pint. But regularly. We take friends. We try the new place. Rain or shine. And we don't complain about the prices like it's still 1995. Because these pubs and bars can’t exist on sentiment alone. They need us, and we need them.