It's the little signs. The furtive glances at the clock. The "oh, I'm only having one. I'm meeting a mate". The uncomfortable moments. It's as plain as lipstick on the collar.
There's an elephant in the room. A third party. A competitor. He's playing the field. Words spring to mind. Betrayal. Deceit. Cheat. Unfaithful. All hurtful.
I know. I know. I know. I can't cage him in. He's his own man. He's free to do what he wants. I don't own him. I cannot pretend to have a hold on him. I just want him to be truthful.
I've always been of the opinion that the more pubs operate well, the more customers will come out. In my last pub, in a small village, there were two other pubs. When they were operating well, we all benefited.
It was as though customers were assured that, if they ventured into the village to visit one pub, and it was too busy, they were sufficiently confident they could go to another pub nearby and be assured of an alternative, but good-quality, experience. People played the field.
All the pubs were good and all traded well. People knew it was a good village to go to.
This opinion was reinforced when one of the local pubs was forced to close. From three to two pubs, the trade didn't increase. It was as if those customers vapourised. But it seemed the more good pubs there were in an area, the more customers would emerge from the woodwork.
But even within this free exchange of customers there were tensions. Those people were MY darts team. MY pigeon club. MY regulars. It hurt when they played the field.
If I visited a nearby pub, to get some change for example, it was embarrassing to catch people in flagrante delicto. Clearly uncomfortable, they wouldn't look you in the eye. They knew they had been "caught" in another pub.
Yet I could still find comfort. The acid test was New Year's Eve. From the early evening customers would ebb and flow from pub to pub. All three had their share. At 11 o'clock there would be few in my bar and the nagging doubts would resurface.
But at 11.50 the doors would crash open. Hordes would descend and the pub would be full. Everyone who was anyone in the village knew that my pub was the place to be. Yes, they betrayed me. Yes, they let me down. But ultimately they came home. And I forgave them. Every time.