The googlebore is a recent and damaging addition to the drinking establishment.
Generally male, often over fifty – the mobile technological revolution has only just hit the grey brigade and they’re loving it – the googlebore sits and waits for his opportunity. He sips and nods when brexit is being debated; mutters in quiet concurrence at the complexities of the Syrian conflict, but as soon as someone ponders on the last player to be sent off for England he comes to life.
While others scratch their beards, look ceilingward and say “Rooney” he quietly unholsters his phone: Tap, tap, boom! “Rob Green”, he shouts with the smug air of know-it-alls everywhere. The problem being that he didn’t fucking know it. Someone else in the bar probably did and the correct answer would’ve been arrived at sooner or later after much debate and social interaction.
What this World Wide Wanker doesn’t understand is that, as far as pub conversations go, the hunt is greater than the kill. The joy is not in getting the answer, but in the journey toward it. It cements friendships and forges connections. It is not just healthy for the pub, it’s essential.
The other week I had around 30 fully grown adults arguing for an hour over whether Sooty is yellow or orange (he’s yellow).
Other topics that have got people hot under the collar have included how many sexual positions there were in a one night stand according to Prince’s Get Off and whether the human race can counter rising sea levels by digging a massive hole.
The Prince one went on for weeks until some downer asked Siri.
This may seem a petty quibble, but landlords know that debate and light hearted disagreement are the cornerstone of the pub. As far as we’re concerned the longer the debate goes on, and the more people involved, the better.
Mobile technology has certainly detracted from the pub conversation, not to mention ruining pub quizzes – oh the accusing glares as the newcomer strides up to the bar to claim their prize, but without doubt the googlebore is the most irritating incarnation of the WiFi generation and he must be stopped, or at least tutted at loudly.