It is probably not wise to judge an individual by first appearances, but my initial opinion was that he had a kindly face. Perhaps slightly piggy eyes, if I am being over-critical, but made up for by the bushy white moustache, which added a touch of gravitas. And anyone who can wear a red-and-white pom-pom hat and lederhosen must have a good sense of humour.
This was the ‘man in a box’. The distinctive bar-pump icon for Ayingerbrau––later Alpine––Lager. It was a staple in the Sam Smith pub, which I used to regularly frequent.
Asking for a pint of ‘man in a box’ had an easy familiarity to it; it singled you out as a ‘regular’; an aficionado. The downstairs bar was very small, so I would take my pint of ‘man in a box’ upstairs to the spacious lounge; at lunchtimes, I could usually guarantee that I would have the room to myself. I liked the quiet; the escape from the hub-hub outside; a sanctuary, seemingly as far removed from the jostling traffic and bustling streets as a peaceful, alpine meadow; just me and my ‘man in a box’. The perfect couple.
But all good things come to an end. My ‘man in a box’ years were ended by the ‘men off the box’. My quiet, central-London enclave was discovered by the media men; wide-boys from the neighbouring TV production studios; noisy, vulgar poseurs, who would declaim loudly about their own pen-pushing self-importance whilst deriding any ‘creatives’ who had the temerity to upset the pampered indolence of their own money-fixated lives.
There was no place for me amongst these ostentatious interlopers; no place for the ‘man in a box’ either. We both recognised that the time had come to part. It was time to say farewell. We both retreated to pastures new. Do I still think about him? Sometimes. And, I wish him only well; hope that he has found somewhere tranquil to lay down his red-and-white pom-pom hat that he can call home.
© Beery Sue
Beery Sue still holds a candle for the ‘man in a box’.
You might like to check out some of Beery Sue’s other pub memories:
Mudskipper Press 
We used to call it man in the hat the stuff was lethal as soon as you hit the outside after ten or so pints your legs stopped working…thing is the Sam Smiths we used to go in was right on the river Thames I had a few precarious moments trying to stay out of the river !
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