Pubs

The British pub ranges from the fabulous cosy wood lined historic building, through to the industrial pee stained pigsty and all the flavours inbetween.

From the downright unwelcoming, to the cheery welcome in.

I have walked into a pub where everyone in there stops what they are doing and turns around to stare. That was way back in the late 80's, during my long hair, tight jeans, leather jacket, very spotty phase. Me and 'partner in crime', David 'Goggs' Gogarty, a speccy short-shit with a big mouth, found ourselves in 'The White Lion' in Alcester.

Lord knows what possessed us to wonder in to the inn, but we must've looked terrible. Skinny, pasty faced, long haired misfits dressed in late 60's fashions.

I don't think I've made a beer disappear so fast in my life.

Another occassion was again with Goggs, down in Oxfordshire.
We decided to forgo the usual cheery pub and try 'The Red Lion' instead (the similar name should've warned us)

We found ourselves in what can only be described as a British version of 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre', or at least, that's how it felt.

The pub was staffed by a huge ugly woman and her two burly 'ooo-aaaar' sons and we were the only ones in the damn place. We were served stale beer and ended up sitting in their lounge in stoney silence. The lounge was furnished in 'late prehistoric' style, complete with clouds of dust as we sank into arm chairs that hadn't seen a clean since the days of Noah.

It was the most fearful and uncomfortable 20 minutes of my life. As we sat in silence, the two sons just glared at us blankly. I swear there was drool dripping out of the corners of their mouths. They sat in muddy boots and overalls, while the mother busied herself somewhere in the nether regions of the 'pub' cooking something that smelled foul, probably the last few patrons who wandered in.

Another time, once again with Goggs, we were sitting in a pub in Handsworth, Birmingham - a student and druggie local. I'd been living in a student squat for a month or so and both me and Goggs figured ourselves locals at the establishment.

It was trendy in the way that only students could consider it, run down and full of druggies and drunks. 'edgy and exciting' is the word that was used then. 'crap' is the word I'd use now.

We were having a noisy pint as usual when Goggs gets it into his mind to skin up a hash joint.
Next thing I know, there's this huge black guy dangling him by his neck. He'd hauled him right out of his chair and looked set to strangle him. The guy was one of the local drug dealers and Goggs had committed a grave sin. You don't light up a joint, on gear supplied by him, in his local pub.
Goggs was mortified and typical to him, swore blind at the guy behind his back and vowed never to go back to the pub. I found it fairly amusing that we were there the very next evening sitting with bunch of students. Never underestimate the danger of 'little man syndrome' - small stature, big gob.

Then we have the great pubs, legendary in fact.
Great Tew has a pub called 'The Falkland Arms' and it's setting couldn't be more picturesque.
It would not go amiss in The Shire. The pub is over 300 years old, in a tiny village complete with village green and giant oak tree.

You have to stoop to go through the door and the ceiling itself is only 7 foot high, crowded with tankards hanging on hooks. The proprieter looks the way I'd imagine 'Farmer Giles of Ham', short and stocky with a huge handle bar moustache.

Me and Micatyro found ourselves there for a few hours when visiting family in the UK. We were left to our own devices while Mom & Cy went off shopping. We got down to business right away, with two pints of 'Old Tanglefoot'
I got myself a clay pipe and tobacco and we settled into complete pub bliss. It really felt like we were back in time, in Olde England. We half expected a hobbit to wonder through selling pipe-weed.
The pipe I'd got was about a foot long, a working 1800's replica. Fantastic !

At this stage, we wondered why they called the beer 'old tanglefoot'
It took another pint to find out why. By that stage, it didn't matter that much anymore, so we had another one for good measure.

In our inebriated state, we wobbled out of the pub into a local shop where Micatyro had a great idea to buy some Dandelion wine - after all, we were back in time here, waaaay back in Olde England, so what better way to enjoy it ?

We popped the bottle in the car on the way back and ended up like a pair of school kids in the back of the bus, laughing and sneaking sips of wine all the way home.

Good times.