Join the Party

Back in the late 70s and early 80s, the drinking culture was not like it is now. We didn't have the range of strong lagers, real ales, shots and alcopops that are available today. Instead we had to make do with watery bitter and weak lager, unless you wanted to progress to the hard stuff. I used to drink a bitter called Double Diamond and, if you wanted lager, it was generally Skol. The mildly serious alcoholics drank cider but the more dedicated drank Carlsberg Special Brew which looks and tastes like a liquefied, nicotine-based tar.  However, if you were on your way to a party or a night of underage drinking down by the canal, the thing to have was a Watneys Party Seven.

For those that haven't sampled the delights of the Watneys Party Seven, or its smaller sibling the Party Four, I shall explain the concept. Take a large paint tin, fill it to the brim with seven pints of watery bitter,  seal it so you can't easily access the contents, then sell it as a ready-made party in a tin. It was great. The only way you could get booze in those days was either to steal it off your parents, or visit an off-license and convince the watchful gatekeeper you were old enough to buy the goods. Therefore, a man with a seven pints of beer became instantly popular.

The Party Seven could never win any awards for design or convenience and there were several problems with it.  Firstly, it was extremely heavy to carry around. Secondly, you could only access it with a tin opener of the type that punched a hole in the top of the can. Of course, we didn't carry such things around with us, and I remember trying to punch holes with any sharp piece of metal or stone we could find lying around. We were lucky we didn't injure ourselves. Anyone with a knowledge of physics will know that you need two holes so the air can flow into one while the beer flows out the other. This made the hole punching exercise doubly difficult. The third problem was a result of the first two problems. Because you agitated the beer while transporting it, then shook it up further trying to open it; you often ended up wearing a pint of sticky, brown liquid.

The next hazard involved trying to decant a very heavy tin into a receptacle you could drink out of. This time it was the carpet that took the soaking. If you managed to open it correctly and didn't spray the first pint all over yourself, you were faced with problem five. Because the tin was so full, as you tipped it up, the beer would flow out of the top hole as well and dribble onto your shoes. Oh what fun we had.

For all its faults, the Party Seven was an icon of its age. Those wags at Watneys may well have been having a joke with us by marketing their fizzy bomb in a tin but we will never see its like again; fortunately. For all you budding drunkards out there who are too young to remember the distinctive red can, in the words of Harold Macmillan, 'you never had it so good.'