At last, the Merseyside micros end (good though they were) and you get a Proper Pub.
A minor classic too, the Plasterers Arms in Hoylake the sort of place to restore your faith in suburban midweek drinking.
Tucked in the back streets, minutes from the beach, I thought for a second I might not get a seat before realising they’d left me one right in the centre of the action.
Nearly dived for it before remembering you have to collect your own beer now, though a bit of informal table service seemed to have survived.
Don’t get too excited, but this seemed to have a touch of Chester’s Olde Cottage about it.
At the bar, a chap asked the barmaid for icecubes for his dog. “In a cup ?”
“Nah, in my hand will do”.
Try that in the Brunning & Price in Tranmere.
Bench seating, boring beautiful beers, Old Boys holding forth on pointless subjects.
Loads of cask pulled, mainly Boltmaker (“It’s Best”shouted someone), so I had to have it. Good enough, I thought, but I so rarely rave about Tim Taylors these days.
A chap in waistcoat and jacket was getting mildly ribbed.
“Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun dressed like you”.
“One must keep up the sartorial standards”.
3 days into “Freedom”, pub life was returning. I was the only one wearing a mask at the bar. I pass no judgement.
Sadly, with pub life comes pub humour.
“What do you call a sheep tied to a lamppost in Cardiff”
“A leisure centre”