Southwater Billy The Bums Bar Closure

Remember that one Thursday evening when you were absolutely certain you had a fiver in your pocket, only to find a receipt for chewing gum and a bus ticket? That sinking feeling, my friend, is exactly how Southwater felt last Tuesday morning, waking up to the news. Word spread faster than a spilled pint at last call: Billy the Bum’s Bar was done.

I was there the night before, nursing a cheap whiskey that tasted like regret and burnt toast. The jukebox was playing something sad, and old Dave was trying to explain the plot of a movie nobody had seen. We didn’t know we were watching the final scene of a fifteen-year-long play.

The official reason? “Rent dispute with the landlord.” Boring, right? But let’s be real, the real reason is always something juicier. Maybe it was the time Billy tried to barter a half-eaten pizza for a keg deposit. You probably have a theory, too—don’t deny it.

What Was So Special About This Dump?

Let’s not pretend it was a Michelin-starred establishment. The carpet had a distinct smell of stale beer, optimism, and something vaguely animal. But that’s exactly why we loved it. It was the kind of place where your phone had zero service, so you actually had to talk to people.

You could walk in wearing yesterday’s clothes and a thousand-yard stare, and nobody blinked. They’d just slide a drink your way and maybe ask if you needed to borrow a phone charger. It was the closest thing Southwater had to a living room.

Billy himself—where do I start? A man who operated on a loose moral code. He once told me the only thing he knew about accounting was “don’t let the numbers touch.” I think he learned that from a bumper sticker.

The Phantom Regulars

Now, here’s the part that’s a bit ironic. For years, everyone complained about the sticky floors and the weird guy who sang karaoke in a bathrobe. But the moment the “CLOSED” sign went up, everyone suddenly claimed they were a regular. I saw a woman post online that she “practically lived there”—I’d never seen her inside, not once.

Sussex village pub reopens after closure

It’s like that old joke: nobody goes to that bar anymore, it’s too crowded. But now the crowd is just a ghost story. Southwater has a dozen other pubs, but they all have polished taps and craft beer menus. Billy’s had a single tap that sometimes leaked, and a menu that was just a bag of peanuts.

That’s the tragedy, isn’t it? We lost a place that was genuinely weird. A place where a bum (in the best sense of the word) could be king. And now we’re stuck with a vacant shell that will probably become a boutique bakery selling $7 sourdough. Ugh.

What Happens to the Ghosts?

I walked past the building yesterday. The windows are already soaped up, but I swear I saw a shadow moving inside. Probably just the landlord, doing a final inventory of the empty spirit bottles. Or maybe it’s the ghost of that one drunk guy who bet his wedding ring on a game of pool in 2019.

Southwater will survive, of course. We’re a tough little town. But the vibe has shifted. You can feel it in the air—a little more quiet, a little more boring. The sparks of chaos have been snuffed out.

I asked a guy at the corner shop what he thought. He just shrugged and said, “Where am I supposed to get a cheap hangover now?” He had a point. The economic impact is real, people. Where will the local poets go to weep into their beer?

BILLY THE BUMS restaurant, Randburg - Restaurant reviews

A Eulogy for the Ashtray

Let’s be honest. Billy wasn’t just a bar; it was a lifestyle choice. A decision to prioritize terrible decisions and questionable company over, say, a good night’s sleep. You never went to Billy’s. You ended up there, like a stray sock in a dryer.

I’ll miss the smell. I’ll miss the way the floor would stick to your shoe with a satisfying schllurp. I’ll miss the philosophical debates about whether a hot dog is a sandwich, arguments that lasted until 3 AM.

Most of all, I’ll miss Billy himself. The man who, when asked why he named the bar after himself, replied: “So when I die, they have to keep saying my name.” Well, Billy. We’re still saying your name. And we’re pouring a stale one out for you tonight.

So here’s to the Bum’s Bar. Closed, but not forgotten. If you have a funny story from that place—and I know you do—tell it to a friend tonight. Keep the legend alive. Find another dive. But remember: you’ll never find another dive quite like that one. The carpet saw things no carpet should ever see.

Now, who’s got a fiver I can borrow? I’m just standing here, paying my respects.