our pub.
We went to buy a bed in Canterbury. Pilgrims returning home; a visit to the inn seemed in order. Not by way of celebration, more of exhaustion at the complexity of bed springs, memory foam, latex and the like.
A pilgrims straw stuffed pallaisse held great appeal by the end of the day.
In the perishing cold we walked into the wind, along the prom.
Skeddalling away from the front through the gate kindly left open by the yacht club, we wound our way to the pub.
Stepping inside it was as if we had entered another world. Our favourite haunt is like that. It is hard to describe, like nothing either of us have experienced.
Locals, friends, nodding acquaintances, a core sample of the great and good of Hythe.
As we sat, thawing and content, wine for me, Skrimshander beer for him we felt part of our new
community.
Sitting drinking in the atmosphere, we could so easily have been extras in a scene viewed through a spy-glass of a Dickens novel. Ruddy faces to a man, the squire in his large checks, the workmen on their way home, clad in work clothes. The magistrate, the jobbing clerks, the retired.
The door opened as the Artic wind blew in more folk. A warm and cosy fug filled the air.
We had a wager that I lost. I calculated that there were twenty men, the women were easy to count... five. He said nowhere near! Including the landlord I lost by two.
It was a gentle end to the day.
In the perishing cold we walked into the wind, along the prom.
Skeddalling away from the front through the gate kindly left open by the yacht club, we wound our way to the pub.
Stepping inside it was as if we had entered another world. Our favourite haunt is like that. It is hard to describe, like nothing either of us have experienced.
Locals, friends, nodding acquaintances, a core sample of the great and good of Hythe.
As we sat, thawing and content, wine for me, Skrimshander beer for him we felt part of our new
community.
Sitting drinking in the atmosphere, we could so easily have been extras in a scene viewed through a spy-glass of a Dickens novel. Ruddy faces to a man, the squire in his large checks, the workmen on their way home, clad in work clothes. The magistrate, the jobbing clerks, the retired.
The door opened as the Artic wind blew in more folk. A warm and cosy fug filled the air.
We had a wager that I lost. I calculated that there were twenty men, the women were easy to count... five. He said nowhere near! Including the landlord I lost by two.
It was a gentle end to the day.
Lovely! I could see it all from your words....
ReplyDeleteI can’t draw, but I do love to paint a picture with words. I’m not always grammatically correct, I enjoy using words that aren’t proper words but sort of get the the message across. At the end of the day I am doing it for me; if I can raise a smile in my followers, even if it is only a wind pain, then I’m happy.
ReplyDeleteLX
"even if it is only a wind pain" :-)
DeleteIs that the pub opening hours? An odd pub that closes so early? It sounds like a great place for a drink though.
ReplyDeleteThat’s what we like about it, not your usual run of the mill hostelry. From the outside it looks very unprepossessing. The beer, the man, the craft of conversation without being cliquey. What is there not to like?
ReplyDeleteLX