A strange disease is spreading across the land. The Government, usually vigilant in the face of plague and pestilence, has voiced no public concern because of its empathy with the victims. So far the epidemic has afflicted only a small section of the population.
Experts have observed manifestations of the disease in the same sector before but say it has rarely displayed itself so blatantly as on this occasion. In informed circles it is referred to as product blindness gombeenivitis simplex. The current outbreak has been confined to the licensed trade. From pub to pub the virus has hopped and hopped. Like many diseases it started simply enough. A few weeks ago the mighty brewers ordained that the price of their product had to be raised because of labour costs, the fall in the value of the Euro, the increase in the price of soap powder to wash the barrels, the trouble in Paraguay, the inexplicable death of two monkeys in San Francisco Zoo - and oh, the need to make more profit before the annual shareholders' meeting.
Fools on stools
Fair enough, said the publicans, everyone is entitled to a living and a rising price lifts all tills. If the poor brewers need to raise the price of the product we will just have to pass it on to the bousers at the bar and the fools on the stools. And we will add a few pence of our own to compensate us for our trouble. It is at this stage that the disease strikes silently and swiftly. The publicans go product-blind.
They cannot tell one product from another, an unusual affliction for men and women who can instantly distinguish a twopence piece from a tenpenny one at 30 yards in a midnight blackout.
Once smitten by the disease their sight is pitiful. A pint of stout takes on the form of a Coca Cola bottle. A glass of whisky looks like a bottle of ale. A cup of coffee, with the steam rising, is mistaken for a cool lager.
Alas and alack, what's to be done. The brewer's bill has to be met. There is no cure for the disease but there is a solution to the problem. All products must go up by the same amount along with the brew. Miraculously this solution is arrived at instantaneously in every pub in the neighbourhood. There is no cartel in the licensed trade as our betters always tell us. No meetings in dark rooms. Not even a phone call.
Pub to pub
("Mick, I was half-thinking of putting tenpence on the pint to meet the bloody brewers' increase. I suppose you'll hardly be doing the same in your place".) But the price rise is carried, like pollen on the wind, from pub to pub and applied uniformly to all products.
"I thought only the pint was going up," moans the bouser at the bar as he rumbles in his pocket for the additional ransom. "Ah, you don't understand the complexities of the trade," mutters the poor victim of product blindness gombeenivitis simplex as he shuffles towards the greasy till.
What if this disease jumps over the bar and spreads among the trading community as a whole? If Kelloggs ups the price of cornflakes will the sirloin steak, the bunch of bananas and the sack of spuds all rise in sympathy in the nation's supermarkets? If Kiwi boot polish takes flight will shoes, laces and insoles also go skywards?
Past experience indicates that our legislators will remain quiescent in the face of the possibility of the spread of the dread disease. When it comes to dealing with the excesses of the licensed trade, parties on all sides of the bar - sorry, the house - unite in inaction. Even the presence of brown paper bags under the counter fails to ignite their interest.
Protected species
Can it be that publicans contribute as much to the democratic process as the building developers and must be treated tenderly? The loan of the upstairs room for weekend clinics or the back lounge for fundraising events can hardly influence the thinking of our members in the Dail. But to them publicans must be regarded as a protected species.
Price control? Never. Liberalisation of outdated licensing laws to take account of demographic changes? Maybe, but it is a complex issue. It is not like a pint of stout, you know, its not all black and white.
Shop around, advise the Government. That is the best way to keep prices down. If you are not happy take your custom elsewhere.
In my locality I can walk two miles from any given spot along the four points of the compass and I will not find a pub where the price list is materially different from the one down the road. Drive farther afield in search of the competitive edge and you run the risk of being arrested for exceeding the limit after your first pint. Only a Minister with a Special Branch driver can indulge in the shop-around lark. As for the rest of us we can only take the poet Housman's advice: Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.