Should we call time on happy hour?

Few brews are more nausea-inducing than the present cocktail of sermonising and chest-beating over drinking. Yet now MPs and other do-gooders, fresh from lambasting middle-class wine drinkers, are fulminating over the evils of happy hours. It's hypocritical, joyless - and it won't work.

I dislike many of the public signs of binge drinking as much as anyone. But few people who enjoy kicking off their evening out at a happy hour will get hammered; far fewer still will do anyone else any harm at the end of it. And if they do get drunk - well, sorry, nanny, but that's perfectly legal.

There are times - after a crappy day at work during the onset of recession, say - when you feel like drinking rather more than the official daily unit count. And I may have said some pretty stupid things while three sheets to the wind but I've yet to hit anyone or get behind the wheel of a car.

Shocking though it may be to ministers, many adults do sometimes get drunk. Such naughtiness has even been known within the hallowed portals of the Mother of Parliaments; indeed, some might argue that evenings in its subsidised watering holes are one long happy hour. Others now bleating are happy to knock back a few too many champagnes at the latest book launch or media party. But cut-price Bacardi Breezers in the pub? How vulgar!

People will always find ways to get drunk. If they then break the law or are otherwise a nuisance, they deserve the consequences. Until then, mine's a pint, thanks.

Andrew Neather

YES

My friends and I call it Unhappy Hour. There's nothing worse than getting to the pub at 6pm and finding drunk businessmen draped across the bar. Aggressively jolly on cut-price booze, they are determined to have a good time. You just know it's going to end in a fight. Or borderline sexual harassment.

Now I like a drink as much as the next person but sophisticated drinking takes time. There's something totally anti-life about people necking pints against the clock. Especially the ones who begrudge "wasting" any money on food. Part of the joy of socialising is sitting down and unwinding - and that certainly won't be happening during a happy-hour binge. People spend their whole time downing their glasses and consulting their watches to get one last "hit" before curfew.

I understand the temptation of getting blotto. Everything from debt to dating improves through a fine mist of alcohol. But for those of us in our forties, it's a dangerous distraction.

Forget six pints of cut-price Czech bat's blood and opt for a leisurely cocktail somewhere glorious such as the Cigar Bar at Claridge's or The Blue Bar at the Berkeley. You get the architecture thrown in for free. It's like starring in your own private film.

As a hedonist, I wouldn't dream of taking the higher moral ground. But I hate the idea of desperate pleasure.

There's something deeply calculating about happy hour. Alcohol companies want you pissed, and they want you compliant. Don't fall for it.

Liz Hoggard