One more pub in St Helier, because it looked so gorgeous at 8:30 pm and the alternative was a curry and Mrs RM was eating light or something.

And there’s no calories in beer if you blog about it.

Ah, the Peirson. Did that in 1999, not in the GBG any longer, perfect.

A bit faded outside,

tidy and vibrant inside. This was a Thursday evening, and I guess it’s the equivalent of Preston’s Old Vic or Stockport’s Swan with Two Necks, near the central market.

OK, not multi-roomed, not ornate, but it has the feel of the community boozer in town.

And a solitary handpump. Liberation again.

Sticky tables, what I noted as “weird ’80s music” (Bucks Fizz ?), and Italian and French staff learning about the joys of scruffy English pubs.

A few gentlefolk were finishing their fish and chips. We resisted, but gave in to a packet of nuts which Mrs RM scoffed while admired the fittings,

and came back to a half-finished pint. Cool and foamy, NBSS 3.5. And that’s outside the Guide.

One hand pump, local beer moving quickly, an absence of choice. It’ll never catch on.

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