Flags of our Harbours + Pubs and Stuff

It was with a joyful heart I saw the fluttering, multi-coloured flags adorning the royal harbour on Thursday. They were truly resplendent, and the wind caught them and made them look tremendous, especially looking down Leopold Street or from the West Cliff.
The sun was shining and all was right with the world. Then, as usual, a mere movement of the eyes extinguished this joyful heart of mine, sat on it and called it a twat.

The Royal Public House. Festering arse-sore nestling like a gap toothed yokel among the haughty sophisticates of the Harbour's more salubrious bars. Previous concessions to public taste, by way of the hanging baskets and old-style facade, have been dumped in favour of a horribly cheap looking red and white sign. The Royal, long the "Tesco Basic" of Ramsgate drinking holes, is now even adopting the same simplistic design.

It's so bland and functional, it can only be a matter of time before they simply write "CHEAPO BOOZE HERE" on it and line the inside with a huge, beer-producing teats, dispensing with any of that tiresome middle-management between the beer itself and the customer. Just ram it down the parched throats of passing idiots, Frank. "A Place to Meet and Be Seen" proclaims the sign by the door. It might as well be written in poo. I would speculate that the only way anyone of any taste or consideration might be seen dead there was if the venerable Gore Brothers set up a franchise in the upstairs bar. It's a weeping pox on the primest of prime real estate on the harbour front.

The competition is now essentially gone. The Harvey, a great little pub once upon a time, gave up the ghost after the owners tried every trick in the book to get the punters in. Unfortunately, they seemed to try every trick in the book all at the same time. At one stage, I swear you could have got a roast dinner at any time, any day of the week, as well as having a full complement of pub grub, a seafood menu or maybe a bowl of scouse. It's the sort of thing that makes Gordon Ramsay roll out the big guns, the big guns which all seem to begin with 'F'.

Jackson's Wharf, disadvantaged by an odd position, nonetheless has potential. Unfortunately, their proud claims to a "beer garden" amount to not much more than some mismatched garden furniture in a courtyard filled with grit. It's like drinking in a car park. If they got their act together in time for the summer, that little area could be a fantastic draw.

The strip between the Royal and the Harvey is the main focus of the entire marina. A strip occupied by an absolute turd of a "pub", the defunct Harveys, a hairdressers and a bloody Estate Agents.

Where's a flaming arsonist when you need one?