Today’s programme, a titchy affair, comes from one of our many underrated pub towns along the M4.
If you’re lucky I might get to Swindon before pubs return.
Duncan might have been a teeny ballboy at this gripping 2-2 draw with eventual champions Coventry.
I don’t know, I wasn’t born.
Perhaps he made ballboy for the big match against Swaythling Athletic.
I did make Elm Park, a Proper ground, AND the plastic monstrosity that replaced it and provided the UK’s most difficult stadium to get away from.
The most difficult apart from Wycombe, where the Women’s team have been banished for being tougher into the tackle than the blokes, based on their performance against City this season.
I’ve enjoyed trips to Reading over the years; you can stay for peanuts on a Sunday night and the pubs stay open late due to by-laws introduced by the previous CAMRA chairman mandating Sunday drinking.
It’s a town best known for its GBG estate pubs.
“What about the Nag’s Head ?” the hopheads whine.
Sir Quinno lives there, I believe.
You know that one.
I thought The Alehouse was equally magic last time, but that might have been the Duchesse du Bourgogne talking.
A good mix of folk, but mainly pint drinkers, and a Sunday night trade most towns can only dream of. In fact, for the first time in many months, I actually heard last orders called, which tells you when I tend to drink these days.
Without conferring, Sir Quinno and I both went for the Good Old Boy.
And if Pub Curmudgeon needs any more convincing, the soundtrack was Jethro Tull and obscure Hawkwind, interspersed with what we thought was Clannad and Kiri Te Kanawa after a ten pint session (them, not us).
I had even better beer last GBG year in the civilised University staff bar.
Just as classy was the Chinese takeaway from PAYA, surreptitiously enjoyed in the rather less classy but Dickensian Mercure George.
Speaking of classy, I really must revisit Theale.