We’d all like to open a bar, name it after ourselves and have a second family of the great and good descend every night. Warning: this is the least likely outcome. Opening a bar is like opening a can of worms, only more expensive. For starters you’re surrounded by alcohol. Don’t get me wrong, alcohol is nice. Very nice. Too nice on occasion. If you don’t believe me, check your own trail of destruction and distraction.
Now consider this: if you’re working behind the bar, the ‘one for yourself’ rule is a slippery slope – slippery because it’s mostly covered in sick. It is not nearly as lucrative as taking advantage of the ‘one for yourself’ rule that applies in jewellers and banking institutions – and in the long term may lead to alcoholitis. Before you know it, you’ll have alcopips coming out of your ears and a nose like Sir Alex Ferguson. If that happens you’ll have to find your way out of this world you’ve created, most likely on your hands and knees.
I don’t want to put you off entirely: if you’re single, owning a bar is a great way to scout for a life partner. Proposals will come thick and fast on a Friday night, varying from the romantic, “will you marry me… what’s you name again?” to the more immediate, “the seats on my Allegro go all the way back”. Still, almost indiscernibly, over time you’ll tire of these easy wins with sexy secretaries and hanker for something more substantial. Probably.
Still, don’t take my advice – if you’re up for it I say f*ck it! Go for it! Mine’s a pint of crème de menthe. Your good health.