Black to the future

I can’t help looking at the escapades of Doc and Marty with great envy.

Ok, so I haven’t yet invented the flux capacitor and I haven’t figured out how to generate 1.2 giggawatts of power but my attempts at time travel have been doomed to failure since the day I was born.

I would like a go at surfing the time continuium but as a black man the chances of me enjoying a flying DeLorean are slim.

I reckon I, and most other ethnic people, would enjoy the future – especially with Barack Obama around to shape it.

But how would we fare in the past?

McFly was able to go back 1885 and 1985 relatively unfettered. Granted, his modern clothes looked stupid but that would be the least of my problems.

The 16th to the 19th centuries are out immediately, as is the American Deep South during most of the 20th century (to be fair I wouldn’t visit during the present day) and I would stick out a mile as a serf in feudal England.

I don’t often feel the need to issue advice but if I was ever asked I would respond as follows: always be polite, treasure your friends and never, under any circumstances, travel faster than 88 mph.

The results may not be as exciting as they seem.

Childen in need... of a drink?

Looking back fondly on our teenage years, we all remember being turfed out or refused service at a pub, bar or some kind other drinking establishment.

Memories of sending my tallest friend (measuring a jaw-dropping 6’3 at just 15) into our local off-license to buy as many bottles of Hooch and WKD as we could carry still bring a smile to my face.

And while the pimpled faced youth of today remain unwelcome in places for adults, there has been a emerging trend in even younger pub patrons... toddlers.

I don’t remember it becoming acceptable, welcome or fashionable but there seems to be an explosion of parents smuggling their very young children into bars.

I was with my sister in a pub a couple of Sundays ago and we were almost outnumbered by the little people.

Children were skipping around, toddlers were sitting in high chairs mashing their fists into food and parents were looking on admiringly wherever I turned.

And this was in the middle of the night.

Not having children myself, I’m not in a position to say what is good parenting and what isn’t but it seemed unfair to both the other drinkers and – ironically- the children themselves.

As an adult, the pub hasn’t managed to retain any of its mystique. Literally they are places that just serve alcohol – usually at rip off rates.

So, simply put – for a child – the pub is boring. Which was probably the reason why everyone under five feet tall was engaged in a game of tag.

And like all the other drinkers, I had to mind my ps and qs. No rude jokes, no swearing and no objectifying the opposite sex.

It seemed a tad selfish of the parents to me – the pub is clearly a place not meant for the under 18’s let alone the under 5s.

Maybe pubs should have special areas for children... or maybe parents should leave the young ‘uns at home and let us joyless, childless folk pickle our livers in peace.