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This week, there has been a brutal murder. I speak not of one in the many wars in faraway lands, but one that has happened in every decent pub in this country. Timothy Taylor’s brewery, in their eternal wisdom, have decided to kill the Jovial Landlord that adorned the pump clip of their famous Landlord ale. This was apparently part of a wider campaign to attract Gen Z to the real ale scene, but I, a member of Gen Z that actually drinks Landlord, am furious about it.
They have replaced the proud, slightly balding, patriot of a landlord, pulling a pint of the good stuff in a red rugby shirt, with a skinny-looking fella in a top far too big for his frail frame. Not only does he wear his dad’s clothes, but in an age when sensitive young men are already being made insecure enough, he has been blessed with a full beard and a full head of hair. This happens to be a blessing that I also share, but still I would not trust this man to serve me a pint. He looks like he should be charging me an extortionate amount for a pulled pork burger with sweet potato fries served in a skillet, before asking whether I want to add a slice of halloumi for another £4.50. Alongside this, they have stolen the Boltmaker’s hat and given him a gormless smile in place of the wry little smirk drinkers have become familiar with.
