It’s not fair.
Simon goes to Plymouth in June and it’s like the last days of Sodom and Gomorrah (has it ended ?); students snogging (close your eyes, Colin), vomit in the Barbican,
8 pint Towers of Beer (almost a gallon, folks) on every corner.
I go a month later and the most exciting thing is the cloud formation over the astonishing edifice which is (checks notes) Plymouth Primark.
That’s a long way off. On this Tuesday night all was quiet, all was still.
Even a stunning draught collection couldn’t edge the number of punters above staff.
Yes, five (5) of those flavoured ciders beloved of Hitchin John.
Only one choice, and not just because it was £2.25 (and Prescott score about as highly as their neighbours Donnington on my beer league table). It’s possible my Aldershot Beer Fest T-Shirt outed me as one of those camras and I got a discount without asking, who knows ?
“This place is simply not refined enough to be a ‘Spoons.” said Si. And he’s right, the sticky tables were quite something though I suspect he’ll in due course find worse Spoons in Scotland.
And I quite enjoyed a bit of culture rather than the Sound of Spoons silence. A rare outing for U2’s “Lemon”; a less rare outing for the Bandits.
Oh, yes, the Doom was gorgeous, and the bloke on Discourse who said he could never score DB more than NBSS 3 should come here, immediately.