The other side of the bar.

The Adam and Eve is the oldest pub in Norwich - founded in 1249. It served beer to people who built parts of the cathedral and it had its own wherry at one point. It is quite a sophisticated pub what with being laden with so much history, beautiful old beams, cosy, higgledy piggledy nooks and crannies, Dutch gables, pretty hanging baskets full of flowers, pride in its huge range of different whiskies and - positioned opposite the law courts - often being full of legal bigwigs. But I worked there.

The landlord at the time (Colin Burgess) was a 'character'. He was frequently given less that six weeks to live by his doctor if he didn't stop smoking and drinking. On the days he received this news, he usually drowned his sorrows in several gin and tonics. To his staff he was firm but also erratically kind. He wanted the customers to be happy and served well but he also took quite a paternal approach with his staff - especially the short blonde ones. When I once told him I was going to Cornwall for a holiday he was outraged. He leant forward and showed me a wad of rolled up cash in his front shirt pocket and said, 'go on Mols - help yourself and have a proper holiday.' I didn't because I suspected some alcohol was talking - as it often was. When he learnt I loved brussel sprouts - he'd always leave me a few in a saucepan. But the following act of 'paternal' love was the best.

Remember when last orders was called ten minutes before 11 p.m., time was called at eleven and then you had a strict twenty minutes to drink up and leave? This story came from that time. I had called time. This young, drunk man marched into the pub and demanded a pint of beer. I replied, 'I am sorry sir but time has been called.' He made his demand again. I repeated my polite refusal. He then re-uttered his demand somewhat aggressively and enhanced it by grabbing my T-shirt and lifting me up a little. He was quite big and I have always been quite small. And it is only upon reflection and when I had received several perturbed responses from this story that I realised that what I did next was a little odd. I couldn't tell you where the idea came from. I stood firm, stuck my finger up his nose and stated clearly, while moving my finger slowly to the left and then the right of the bar in time with each word, with his nose following, 'You - cannot - have - a - pint - of - beer - sir.' I stopped with my finger still in place. I watched as he lifted his nose - attached to a considerably startled face - off my finger. He backed off. I watched as he rejoined the group of his friends a short distance from the bar and recounted the story to them and pointed at me. I smiled. His friends clearly thought he was making it all up. I won.

And then some niggling doubt crept in. Colin had such a pride in his pub and in keeping customers happy. I suspected that sticking fingers up his customers' noses wasn't really what he had in mind when it came to customer care. What if the man told on me? Colin knew I was a little unorthodox in places. So I confessed. Head bowed in uneasy shame, I told Colin the whole story. I was dreading his response. He could be quite fiery and unpredictable - like most alcoholics. And I simply could not have predicted his response. He put his arm around me and said in a way that seemed like he had carefully considered what I had divulged, 'Mols if you thought it was appropriate to stick your finger up a customer's nose, then I trust your judgement.' Excellent managerial call in my opinion.