Last orders at the Quarant Inn

It’s the end of an era. Robbie goes back to his London digs tomorrow, so last night was officially our last night at the Quarant Inn.

Setting up the “pub” was supposed to be a bit of fun dreamt up on the Friday before lockdown. We’d decided against going to the actual pub because Brian and I were still self-isolating after our trip to Vietnam, so we congregated in Robbie’s room at around 5pm - at the same time as the daily briefing was being aired. 

And as we downed our drinks in our pretend “pub” we were entirely oblivious to the fact that politicians were at that very moment announcing the shutdown of REAL pubs from the following day. 

We’ve now been traipsing up to Robbie’s room every Friday since March 20. That’s 10 Fridays. Unbelievable.

We even have the T-shirts to prove it. When Robbie was at a low ebb early on in the lockdown he whiled away an hour or so designing a motif to look like a pub sign. So of course, we humoured him when he suggested we order T-shirts bearing this image. 

As it happens, a lot of Robbie’s quirky ideas turn out to be good ones in the end. As a child he would spend all his pocket money on fossils and old coins. “That’s £10 for a fossil!” I’d say to nine-year-old Robbie. Or: “£15 for a coin? What a waste!” It only occurred to me later that I would say these things in the Old Shepherd after forking out for a round of drinks and crisps. After our pub outing I’d be £20 the poorer, while Robbie remained the proud owner of his ancient purchases. And 15 years on he still has some of these treasures, while others he has sold for a whopping profit on eBay.

Then there was the time he insisted on recording the voices of my Mum, mother-in-law and aunt on his “spy” recording device. “It’s for when they’re dead”, he said, ghoulishly. The three senior ladies humoured him and allowed themselves to be recorded. Sadly, two of them are now indeed dead. We have since been desperate to hear those recordings - but they’re distorted beyond recognition on Robbie’s cheap spy toy. However, once again he had shown a foresight we lacked.

When we’ve all moved on from COVID-19 we might want to collectively forget this lockdown experience. But our T- shirts will be a memoir of our makeshift pub, and one day when we dig them out of a drawer they’ll remind us of the unprecedented events of 2020. And Robbie will probably sell them on eBay when we’re dead. 

Anyway, no more Quarant Inn. End of an era. The pub is defunct.

Hang on, what am I saying? Robbie may be going, but his room lives on with its pubby pictures, stuffed birds and antiques. Brian and I might constitute a smaller “pub crowd” but we can still enjoy the bar-like vibe. In fact we might even improve the place even further by digging out the table football table from underneath Robbie’s pile of old stuff. He’d hate that, though. Let’s not tell him.