Hamish Champ: Extended opening hours? Not round here mate, thank you very much

Daytime drinking at the weekend in a dark, pokey yet inviting pub is one of life's great pleasures.

I can't put my finger on it, but there's something supremely wonderful about settling down in an gloomy old-fashioned boozer, facing the prospect of savouring a few pints while it's still light outside.

So, there I was this past weekend, drinking beer in a pub in London's Borough Market after fighting my way through crowds of tourists - probably from North London - who were all buying hugely over-priced but doubtless extremely healthy fruit and veg, when a terrible thing​ happened.

I went to the bar with the express intention of ordering yet more pints of Bombardier when blow me down, the young lady behind the bar smiled her sweet smile and uttered a phrase I'd not expected to hear at this time of day:

"Sorry, we're closed."

What?!​ It's only quarter past three?

"Yes. We stop serving at three."

Sweet Albion, three o'clock?!​ But that's nearly still the morning! So, like, all that Licensing Act stuff hasn't filtered through to round here then?

OK, I admit I stopped short of asking her this, but it occurred to me to do so. And she'd no doubt have retorted that the Act simply allows for pubs like the one I was in to choose their own trading hours within a prescribed period as laid down by the local council's committee for such things, etc, ad nauseum. And that would have been that.

Still reeling from this turn of events I reluctantly left the warm confines of the pub into the cold air of Saturday afternoon and weaved my way through the hordes of people who were still milling about.

As I did so I wondered where all the fuss about extended drinking hours comes from, when there are establishments like the one I'd just been in that are delightfully wedded to the notion that a pub shuts at the old afternoon witching hour.

This despite the fact that until they got around to physically locking the front door there were people continuing to pile in, only to be turned away thirsty.

As for my desire for more beer, I went to a pub round the corner that had caught up with the Modern World and carried on drinking for the next four hours. Lovely jubbly…