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Salient. Victoria University of Wellington Students' Newspaper. Volume 32, No. 19. August 6, 1969

The Royal Tavern or 1001: A Piss Oddity

The Royal Tavern or 1001: A Piss Oddity

You will have observed that all of this column's action takes place this week in local hostelries, with nary a mention of a restaurant. This is the result of a most unfortunate occurrence which culminated in my being put away ha ha. Even now I get a little upset at the thought of it, but I'll do my best to recount exactly what happened in a clear and impartial fashion.

I am a great believer in not interfering with the immutable laws of nature, one of which is gravity. Whenever I drink in a pub with more than one floor. I always start at the top, and sort of flow down naturally to the lower ban, and so it was when I Returned To The Royal Tavern.

I started upstairs in the Royal Room. I managed to stay upright during the 20 minutes or so that I waited for a drink, and sat down on a rock hard red and black chair at a red and black table with no ashtray. Sokay, I look round cautiously and there are all these polystyrene foam knights hanging from the wall staring blankly back at me. One of them was missing a leg. This half-hearted attempt at making cripples feel at home also had a cigarette butt tucked in the crook of his arm. So. These have got to be the biggest ashtrays in the Southern Hemisphere.

My stomach told me that it was time in switch to another bar, so I wandered downstairs to a bar which contained no foam knights, but which the management in their wisdom have called the Knights' Bar. The orange and purple decor could have been chosen for an entirely different sort of person than the ones who drink there, but I rather fancy it is just bad taste. The chairs at least looked mure comfortable here. My fundament soon informed me that the opposite was the ease. They do have a most friendly and chatty barmaid. But I was starting to feel distinctly paranoid at this stage, so I went down to the Dungeon Bar.

I really can't adequately describe the revolting brickwork with which this bar is lined. It is just incredibly bad, and is beginning to come away from the walls. The seats here have their upstairs counterparts beaten hands down when it comes to discomfort. I determined to have one beer and depart. So I got my beer and sat down. It was [hen that it happened. I looked up and there was the spook out of the Wizard of Id just sitting there chained to the wall. I don't quite know what happened after that. I vaguely remember being trussed up screaming into the alleyway which leads to the dart board by two knights in white coats and having a clothes peg clipped neatly onto my tongue and then everything goes blank. I don't think I'll go back to the Royal Tavern again.

Yours till the walls pad.