It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon just off Piccadilly Circus. We’d just been on a family trip to the National Portrait Gallery – quite civilised really. Plenty of families and tourists happily milling about on a nice spring day – not exactly a scene of Hogarthian depravity.
So it’s hard to explain to your seven-year-old daughter why there are massive LED signs clumsily declaring Westminster council’s ban on street drinking. So where exactly are the debauched hoards chugging on Frosty Jack’s or face down in the gutter in a pool of blood and vomit?
Sure, Britiain has a booze and binge-drinking problem, but it isn’t going to fixed by making people drink out of a paper bag or just paying more for the privilege. Or by shoving a crass sign down its throat.