Right, it’s 3:15 and time for me to take a trip to my watering hole, The Stonemasons Arms.
It used to be The Jolly Butcher but that place has gone to the dogs since Billy retired.
Billy was a fantastic landlord unlike Vinyl Vera and Plastic Pete the current licensees. I kid you not, the only time he smiles is when he has a winner on the nags, she just doesn’t smile…ever.
Then there is their son, an obnoxious little twat who seems to think that 'cos mummy and daddy have the pub he has the right to monopolise the dartboard, pool table and quiz machines.
The football teams (2) and the pool team left the pub because Plastic Pete and his missus would not put out the traditional sandwiches/soup or whatever for the team and visitors. He said he was losing money on it He got £4 each time off the football card, the soup cost pennies and the sandies were almost always spam. How the hell could he lose money? the tight fisted asswipe.
He seemed to forget that 22 footballers consume at least 3 pints each plus the team followers also drink…what a prick.
All the teams moved to The Wendover where they were greeted with open arms and huge smiles as well as decent butties.
Right, I’m off but in the words of Gen. McArthur, “I shall return”
You can’t beat a good local. Mine is a big old thing with an island bar, a seperate pool and darts room, nice places to sit outside both front and back (essential now with the smoking ban), and a big screen connected up to a large satellite dish that gets dodgy football feeds from Abu Dhabi. The family that run it are all very nice people who are always coming round with plates of free sausage rolls and pizza for the hungry punters.
It’s the sort of place where if you need a plumber or an electrician or whatever you don’t bother looking in the Yellow Pages you just get someone from the pub to do it cash in hand. I seem to be the “can you fix my PC?” guy, very reasonable rate - just buy me a pint the next time I’m in.
I’m back having quaffed just 3 pints of falling down water, I am now ready to consume vast quantities of scran before settling down to a energetic evening of TV, chess playing and other energy sapping activities…small wonder I’m getting fat
Indeed Struan there are pubs and then there are pubs. The Stonies is much the same as yours, nice landlord and nice clientele…and even nicer barmaids…especially Josie who is a full breasted wench, (great word that, WENCH) possessed with a smile that’ll turn your nads to a quivering mess of unconcealed lust.
There is alway a “Stan the Man” isn’t there?
Whether it be decorating, PC probs or gardening, he is always there, no matter what it is Stan can either do it or get it at reasonable cost.
My agenda for the morrow is much the same as today, eat, SDMB, pub and back…aint retirement great?
I miss pubs, especially the ones in GB which are, by their very definition, perfect. But I quit drinking beer, absolutely refuse to go anywhere where I might be compelled to drive after drinking, and despite a long history of pleasant pub experiences just always prefer to do the family thing now instead of going out.
I wish we had pubs here. We have restaurants. We have sports bars. We have a few places in the city that pretend to be pubs while the only reasonable facsimile of a pub we used to have closed a few years ago and is now inhabited by 20-something emo kids wearing too much eye makeup.
On top of that, my favorite bar lost its two best bartenders and three of the best waitresses in one year. No more free drinks for me, alas.
When I moved back onto this street after a twenty-year absence called ‘marriage’, I was looking forward to visiting the several good pubs in the area. Down-to-earth places, with good selections of real ale and no pretensions. One in particular had no TV, no jukebox, live acoustic music most evenings, and a stunning selection of ales. Just the ticket! Of an evening, I could pop down to sample the beers, maybe read or do a crossword, chat with the regulars, that sort of thing. The idea took a little out of the sting of separation and divorce.
Unfortunately, a lot’s happened in the intervening two decades, and every pub has widescreen TV permanently on, loud jukeboxes, crap beer (apart from the occasional handpump huddled in the corner, drafting its Last Will & Testament) and an active scene of hard drugs and rampant, enthusiastic alcoholism.
I used to have one. John’s Pub. For the locals, it’s on 12 just south of Deer Park Mall. Since the Cook County Smoking Ban, it was great, because it was the only cheap, close by, draft Old Style selling place around where you could smoke, and we’ve known the owners for years and years and years - we exchange Christmas presents for heaven’s sake. But not anymore - we won’t ever go back. Not until their “bartender” is gone. Either John or his wife used to bartend, but now they have someone else, and he did something so horrible to my husband that I told the owners that unless this guy is gone, we will NEVER darken their doorstep again. It’s ruined a 15 year old friendship. And their business is about to go under now from what I’m hearing - after all the regulars heard about happened to my husband, they stopped going in there too.
So now I go to Duffy’s Sports Bar - and smoke outside. But it’s ok - husband and I have known that owner for twenty years as well - and they sell Old Style (but not drafts - we’re working on that.)
Apart from The Stonies there is also The Hare and Hounds.
Sunday lunch there is something again, 2 for the price of one. Sodding great slices of lamb, roast and new spuds, three, yes THREE, veg, gravy and a hunk of French bread to mop up.
Lunch for 2… £9.95
Add mint sauce and you feel as if you’ll never want to eat again.
He got £4 each time off the football card, the soup cost pennies and the sandies were almost always spam. How the hell could he lose money? the tight fisted asswipe.
I want a pub!!