The local

Well somebody’s anyway. Couple of miles from where we live, not that that is any impediment to Top Gun, aka Longshanks Beerhunter. The Dizzle and I met him there for an hour and he was already on first name terms with the locals and waiting for his pork belly and cheesy garlic bread (which is apparently so good for dipping in gravy).

They had a roaring log fire stoked by one of the regulars, Ken. We were of one mind about fires, Ken and I, namely that there is nothing like them for losing yourself in mildly alcoholic reverie as the flames slowly descend into embers. A couple of guys were playing darts and at the bar a brace of painters and decorators were talking politics.

‘You know the worlds gone farkin mad when that bluddy Theresa May is president. And that tosser Trump is in charge of America’. His mate agreed but pointed out that May was a Prime Minister. ‘All the farkin’ same was the response which is fair enough.

When we left they were setting up for poker. An elderly man with an aluminium box of poker chips put up a screen to shield the players from view. It didn’t feel like Vegas.

I would miss pubs like this if they didn’t exist. Not much perhaps, but enough.

My working day at home was more productive than usual. I was very focused, which always helps. Also managed to do some washing. Enjoyed my glass of beer, then came home and cooked supper for TSM who had been working late.

Good day.