Even more short posts coming up, I’m afraid, which will delight those of you who just want to see pictures of foaming pints with angry locals in the background, but frustrate the reader who wishes to read the detailed history of minor Susses towns.
Arriving back in Brighton at 4.30pm I suddenly realised I hadn’t had a pint. ALL DAY.
The Basketmakers had looked so gorgeous earlier I’d taken a lovely photo of it which I’ve now lost, so here’s one I nicked earlier.
The best pubs in the Laine(s) have the same feel as those in SE1, with the mix of suits, tourists and Trustafarians.
They also have lovely handpumps dispensing beers you’ve heard of.
Never wise to go for anything as strong as HSB early in the evening, with Mrs RM to face shortly.
So I went for the ESB. using the “What Would Paul Do ?” principle.
A couple moved from the best seat in the houuse, just as I was paying. How often does that happen ?
No-one sat at the bar, interestingly. The seating round the walls is just too good.
And while the ESB was better than good, it wasn’t what imbued the pub with magic.
Perhaps it’s just that golden hour between 4 and 5 where pubs in cosmopolitan cities come alive, just before the food takes over a bit.
Rarely have I heard such a variety of chat in a pub, and none of it about beer.
Which is what makes a great pub.