One of the most infuriating parts of a night out? Queuing, almost endlessly, for a pint.
All you want is a sweet sweet Kronenbourg. But the banter lass in front of you has just ordered ten Jägerbombs, and a huge bloke just barged past you to grab his jug of Cheeky Vimto and pint of Stella. Mate, why?
Will you ever taste alcohol again?
There are few worse places for all this on a weekend night out than Wetherspoons. The pubs are cheap, so the pubs are busy.
But the company has just unleashed