The Royal Exchange in Stourbridge, 1980s.
Having emerged from the 70s with its reputation as a diehard Biker's pub - stories such as the Landlord pursuing someone outside for damaging the jukebox, apprehending him as the guy climbed on his chopper, who then proceded to dissuade him with a sawn-off an inch from his face-

the late 80s it emerged as one of the best venues for listening to rock music (place a bit small to host an actual band) and good beer and good company. You wouldn't be ejected if you didn't have a biker jacket or a heavy metal t-shirt but you might feel a little outnumbered. Young lads and lasses mixed freely with unreformed crusty greebos from the previous decades. The odd whiff of dope, the occasional tattooed face but no problems. Every Friday night, busy. Every Saturday night, packed. Also, I met Brian Tatler there, the Diamondhead guitarist whose riff for 'Am I Evil' is credited with influencing the architects of thrash metal. And yet such a humble man to talk to :-)

Then the landlord changed and the new guy decided that he wanted to impose his idea of a theme on the place and all of a sudden it changed character, called 'The Meeting Place'. Apparently he was a buddhist hippy vegan who had travelled the world in search of spiritual enlightenment and the decor soon had 'inspirational quotes' painted on walls, and the black timbers and purple velvet seating became bean-bags and retro-chic distressed sofas and murals of Caribbean desert island sunsets. The music they played was very inoffensive middle of the road pop and AOR. The lunchtime menu featured a lot more things with the word 'bean' in it.

Slowly the hard rock fraternity left after they realised it was staying like this and went to alternate pubs around the area with more Metal Credibility. But occasionally I'd pop my head in to see if any of the old crew came back in to meet up and saw the hardcore crusty greebos refusing to be ousted, so sat in their corner still sporting Hawkwind t-shirts, grey beards (well maybe not the women) and aged, cracked shiny-through-wear biker leathers, they repulsed the new clientele that the landlord was trying to attract. A steady stream of art college students buying a half of lager (and making it last 3 hours) kept the place afloat for a while but it could not sustain itself. The lunchtime trade of pensioners shopping who used to get a cottage pie and chips could not refill the coffers as it had once done because they no longer opened during the day. So slowly and inevitably it dies on its arse.

After that landlord gave up on the place the next guy in (I assume he was backed by a chain or a group of investors) tried to change the Exchange's character again to attract a new, dynamic young happening smart crowd, so the architect designed a new steel-and-glass interior (ostensibly to reflect the industrial heritage of the area, in both glass and steel which was once produced locally) and renamed it The Glasshouse.

As a trick and a talking point the downstairs ceiling which was also the upstairs floor was made of hardened inch-thick glass sheets. A technological marvel. A styling conversation point. Because glass, as we know, is transparent. Which meant anyone downstairs could look up and see straight up the skirts of any girls upstairs.

That didn't last long. It's now boarded up.

Moral of the story -if the pub's not broken, don't try and fix it.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Sun 9 Feb 2014, 19:22, 1 reply)

Bikers fly helicopters?

(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Mon 10 Feb 2014, 11:15, closed)