WHEN not writing dystopian fears in his novels 1984 and Animal Farm, George Orwell was on cheerier ground when he wrote an essay after the war on what made the perfect pub.

His glowing piece about his favourite establishment, the Moon Under Water, would make any reader salivate at the thought of having a pint there. The feeling was just slightly spoiled at the end when he revealed that such a pub did not exist as he knew of no premises that measured up to all that he wanted in the perfect pub.

I was thinking of George's pub rules last week as Camra, the beer campaign group, was urging people to visit a pub in January as it is traditionally the quietest month of the year in the licensed trade, and with 26 pubs closing every week in the UK, they need our help.

As Camra's chief executive Mike Benner put it: "The best way people can help the pub industry is to use their local pub during January. Many of us only visit pubs over Christmas but if we want British pubs, which are such an important part of our economy and way of life, to survive then we need to support our local all year round."

So just how bad is it in publand? I asked Susan Young, proprietor of the Glasgow-based drinks industry magazine Dram. "Well, people will quote you the statistics of the number of premises closing, but they forget to tell you the number of new premises that are opening," she says. "Yes, January is a quiet month, but publicans always know that, and may use the time for a well-earned holiday after the Christmas rush, or to redecorate, or to put in place their plans for the coming year.

"Pubs will close when they are not viable and don't attract enough customers, but the good pubs will always do well. There's a lot to look forward to. The Commonwealth Games ought to be a busy time in Glasgow, although many premises in London didn't get a turn during the Olympics. Not only will there be visitors to Glasgow, but the feel-good factor might tempt out the locals too, especially if there are extended hours, as there was during the Garden Festival."

In George Orwell's mythical Moon Under Water, there was no music playing, the barmaids know most of the customers by name and take a personal interest in them, plenty of elbow room, a good fire burning in the winter, quiet enough to have a conversation, a dining room upstairs that serves a solid lunch, and creamy stout served in pewter pots. It's handy for the bus stop, but in a side street so that drunks and rowdies never find it.

Yes, barmaids. The classic barmaid story is of the Scottish pub which has a sign stating "A pie, a pint and a kind word". After being served a pie and a pint by the sullen barmaid, a customer asked: "What about the kind word then?"

"Don't eat the pie," she told him.

Or the pub where the chap barked at the barmaid: "Gie's two Grouse." "Ma feet are killin' me, and I hate folk who don't say 'please' or 'thank you'," she replied.

Yes, customers can be a bit tricky. When comedian Janey Godley ran her own pub in Glasgow's challenging Calton district, a chap with a well-weathered visage took unkindly to her not serving him after hours. "Do you want a sore face?" he asked her. "Why," said Janey, standing her ground, "are you giving that one away?"

Or the customer in a bar beside Glasgow's Queen Street station who looked suspiciously at his pint and declared: "It's cloudy."

"What do you want for £2.50?" asked the barman. "Thunder and lightning?"

Actually, Janey's pub in Carlton reminds me of a drinks rep who told me about calling in on a customer in nearby Gallowgate who was worried that he would lose his licence because there had been a fight inside the premises. The rep tried to cheer him up by saying there were often fights, and it did not mean his licence was at risk. "The police were in," continued the glum owner. "Again, not uncommon," persisted the rep.

"No' wi' horses they're no'," added the owner.

George Orwell's desire for name-remembering barmaids was of course repeated in the theme song of TV comedy Cheers with its refrain "Where everybody knows your name". It can have its downside, though. I walked into Babbity Bowster in the Merchant City after an absence of a few years, and was cheered when owner Fraser shouted over: "Ken!" But then I was dashed when he added: "God, you've aged."

George Orwell also wanted a pub that sold stamps and aspirin apart from food and drink. He wanted an accommodating bar, and I can think of no more accommodating licensed premises than The Press Bar which The Herald was next door to for many a year. They cashed cheques. When picture editor Al Stars was asked by his bank manager why he cashed cheques at The Press Bar rather than at the bank, he replied: "They keep better hours."

So I do my bit for the Camra campaign and pop into The Griffin near the King's Theatre run by the ebullient Bobsie Mullen where Orwell would have been delighted with the pint of creamy stout he poured. "So how's business?" I ask.

"We're slightly different," says Bobsie, "in that we have the King's where the panto went on 'til mid January, then we had a sold-out West Side Story for two weeks, so unlike others, July is our worst month.

"But consumers are paying their credit cards for Christmas so the January pay weekend is not as good as normal pay weekends, but we've had some good trade from people who are visiting Glasgow for Celtic Connections."

He might have told me some more details of the licensed trade economy, but I was enjoying the Guinness too much to pay attention, so instead we laughed at some of the bizarre tales from his years behind the bar, because as George Orwell rightly said, people go to the pub for conversation as much as the beer.

Which reminds me of the chap who went into a pub and the old fellow in the corner doing The Herald crossword looked up and asked him: "Four letters, beginning with P. A measure of liquid." "Pint?" said the chap. "Thanks," said the old fellow. "A lager for me."