PUB REVIEW: DOCKERS

by Dave Hynes

EDINBURGH

This is a real shit tip. The first thing you notice about Dockers is that even dockers don’t go there. Such a migration of customer loyalty away from a pub principally advertising its clientele so ostentatiously is usually the sign that it’s not a terrific outfit- and it isn't. In truth, Dockers needs to be knocked down and started again, maybe being rebranded as Porker’s and having a little titty bar on the side.

Apparently, there is a new phenomenon which has hit, most pertinently, those mobile juvenile delinquent pests who give Leith it’s self-perpetuating stock of fresh meat by, quite wrongly, having the capacity to disseminate population paste. I am of course referring to the Young Leith Troops (YLT.) who have begun a craze called ‘docking’. They ‘dock’ each other by rubbing their forskins together in the street like a kind of penishead-style thumb war. I didn’t, unfortunately, see much of this during my brief flirt with the Dockers but I did see someone who needed to be shot by a nobel prize winning assassin. The owner, a corpuscular middle aged lady who looks like an arm wrestling champion, was a whorish landlady who seems to prefer that her beloved cradle of a bar be a commercial disaster and a backhole for Calvinist torture chambers. She has a very obvious fear that outside lies people who may not be local and should therefore be kept at bay.

Apart from myself and the lovely landlady the pub was empty leaving me to assess the Dockers in all its vacuous glory. This is a shit pub of premiership quality and would certainly gain Champions League football next year, runs the Marksman into areas its never been taken before, just pipped by the fact I’ve been told the Marksman has two more fatalities per week than the Dockers- though I think most crime in the Dockers goes unreported or/and recycled into the stout pumps.

Think of a place you hate, open your eyes and voila, la Dockers