The Four Crosses, Cannock, summary

 

        So, lots of interesting stuff at The Four Crosses, a big place with a huge car park and lots of rooms. It could be a goldmine, but it will take a massive investment which is unlikely to happen in the current economic climate and it's a shame. I'd love to see it restored to it's former glory. I'm not even sure that the building is still there. You can see it on Google Earth but who knows how old the pictures are on there. But, let's hope someone sees the potential and takes it on. It would be a crime if it were left to crumble.

        Normally, if a place is closed we would take a couple of beers and toast the place outside, taking a picture to commemorate the event but we were able to go one better here as we'd been let inside. We'd taken a bottle or two and were able to take this picture behind the bar.

        Please excuse the miserable face, it's natural. Our thanks to the manager (who's name we can't remember) from the Brewery (which we can't remember) for getting us in and to Alan, the caretaker who turned out to be a decent chap in the end (he even gave me a glass as a souvenir of our visit).

                                Cheers!

The Four Crosses, Cannock, part 2.

        Before we travelled to Cannock we had done a bit of research on the Four Crosses and discovered that it had a reputation for being haunted. In fact, I believe it had featured on TVs Most Haunted programme, although it's something I've never seen, and I think they used to hold some sort of ghost watch thing there. We asked Alan and he said that the cellar was the place to see (though he'd never seen a ghost himself), so that's where we headed next.

        As you can see, not much down here,

        And very low ceilings, I'm only 5 feet 5 inches tall (that's 1.65 metres to you young uns). But then in one corner we found this,

        Now I don't believe in all this tosh but if I did, I'm not sure how confident I'd be of success using a Ouija board that somebody made out of an old pub table and a felt tipped pen. Just sayin'.

        Jonathan Swift (1667 - 1745), Dean of  St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, visited The Four Crosses and was so taken aback by the landlord's wife's foul temper that he allegedly scratched a rhyme on a windowpane which read,

                    "Why hang four crosses at the door

                 Hang out thy wife, thou needs no more"

which is supposed to be still there, but we couldn't find it.

        Back outside though, we did find a couple of interesting things carved into the timbers. One was, presumably, the date the pub, or at least that part of it, was built.

        And the other was part of a poem by Thomas More, In Mortis Diem Omnibus Incertum (The day of death which is known by no one)

        It reads,

           FLERES, SI SCIRES UNUM TUA TEMPORA MENSEM

                 RIDES, CUM MON SIT FORTISAN UNA DIES

           which translates as

        You would weep if you knew that your time was one month,

     You laugh when perhaps there might not be one day left to you.

        or in modern language,

If you knew that you only had one month to live, you would weep, but you don't know. So you laugh, yet you might have less than a day left.

        Cheerful bugger, wasn't he?

                                            Cheers!

The Four Crosses, Cannock, part 1.

        On the 25th November 2015 we went to Cannock to visit The Four Crosses which became an important coaching house in the latter part of it's history. But to get there we had a bit of a journey ourselves.

        The Four Crosses is closed and has been for a while so we were expecting to just go and have a beer outside and take a couple of pictures. But my son, Clint, found a phone number for the pub and gave it a ring. The phone was answered by a chap called Alan who confirmed that, yes, the pub was closed, he had been installed there as a caretaker and was doubtful as to whether it would open again. My son then explained what we were doing and asked, politely, if there was a chance that we could call in for ten minutes, have a quick look round and take a couple of pictures. It was a resounding no. He was under strict instruction not to let any one in or even discuss the place in detail. So, that was that.

        Except, it wasn't. My son then decided to rind the brewery that owned the pub (unfortunately, neither of us can remember which brewery it was). He eventually found the manager that was dealing with it and explained to him, then asked, politely again, if there was any chance we could go and have a look round and take some pictures. 

        The answer came straightaway, "Of course, no problem. when do you want to go? I'll tell Alan to expect you and let you have the run of the place" Result!

        So, here we are on our way!

        And here I am outside the front of the pub.

        It's a big old place and with lots of interesting architecture (not that either of us profess to know anything about architecture, it just looks good). We made our way round the back and found the way in.

        No, not that, this,

        Anyway, we knocked on the door a couple of times and, after a short wait, a guy opened the door. This was Alan, and we both got the distinct impression that he wasn't best pleased that we'd gone over his head and he now had to put up with us.

        But, Hey ho!!!

        After a while he warmed up a bit and he told us that since the place closed there'd been several people interested but it never went anywhere. One company wanted to turn it into a hotel (it has quite a lot of bedrooms) but one of the biggest obstacles was the fact that the doors to the bedrooms were not fire rated and, because it's a listed building, they wouldn't be able to change the doors ( I don't know the rules for listed building works, but you would think there would be a way round that, a compromise, maybe. Better to make changes than let it rot).

           Here's a few pictures of the inside,

        As you can see, nice fireplaces, lots of oak beams and all the furniture still in place. There's also a few interesting things on the walls too.

        This is a picture of what was supposed to be a military uniform found in a trunk in the attic in the 1950s. The jacket is made of velvet and the trousers are buckskin. It was made for a boy and dates to the 1850s. It's now in a museum.

        This one tells the history of some of the other inns on Watling Street, most of which no longer exist.

        Well, it's getting late and I've probably done enough for tonight. It also seems quite tiring doing it on your own or maybe that's just my age. Anyway, I'll attack it again tomorrow but for now,

                                Cheers!

The Bear Esher, Summary

 

So, the evening didn't go quite as planned which means the only information I can supply has been gleaned from the tinterweb.

        The Bear is an 18th centurycoaching inn and a Grade II listed building, It was a staging post for the London to Portsmouth coaches and the local posting house and was reportedly used by Lord Nelson. It was originally called The Bear and Ragged Staff and was built on the site of the Earl of Warwicks hunting lodge. It was also called the Brown Bear during it's coaching days. His crest included a bear. There has supposedly been a pub here since 1460. In the dining room there are a pair of huge jack-boots. These were, allegedly worn by the post boy who drove the fugitive French king, Louis Phillippe to Claremont during the revolution of 1848. It is also said that a section of the French Royal household put up at the Bear.

        And that's all the history I can give you. The only thing left to say is that it's a very good pub with very nice staff. I just wish we'd gone on a week night when it might have been less busy or that we were more disciplined with our alcohol intake!

        Nevertheless, it's a great pub and I would recommend it to anyone. That's all I have I'm afraid so until next time,

        Cheers!

The Bear, Esher, Part 2

The Bear is just across the road from the pub we were in and is an imposing looking place situated right in the middle of town. I, being a Numpty, accidentally deleted some of my photos so I've borrowed one I found on-line (apologies to anyone who has copyright - I will remove it on request).

The Bear

    We went in through the front door and I realised we'd probably spent too much time in The Albert. The Bear was rammed. And if we thought The Albert was cliquey, this didn't look as if it was going to be any better. It was full of twenty-somethings who looked like they all worked in the city and were letting their hair down. Lots of champagne and fancy dress for some reason! I couldn't see us getting many stories out of them (and it turned out I was right).

    I'd been in touch with the manager, Chris, and told him we were coming. He'd said to make ourselves known when we arrived so, we made our way to the bar, ordered a beer, and asked the young girl there if we could speak to Chris. She said he was very busy and I explained that he was sort of expecting us so off she went. A minute later she returned with a young man who said "Can I help you"? I said "Are you Chris"? He said "No". He was Chris's assistant. I thought "this is going well". So I explained again that Chris was expecting us and we'd really like to speak to him. He said he'd go and see if he was free but that he might not have time to speak to us as he was really busy, and off he went. 

    I was seriously considering going back to The Albert.

The Bear seemed OK, but definitely a lost cause as far as local stories go. It was a drinkers pub, but not a community pub. Everyone was there with their own mates, and had no intention on mixing and a mingling. Its a Friday night pub. Plenty of hustle and bustle, decent atmosphere, just lacking in a little....spirit? I dunno, but I imagine next Friday night there'll be a whole new set of faces...

Chris Turned up, Looked like my old boss, which was a good and bad thing... (Good, as, with my old boss, We started off fine, but bad, because things with my old boss soon turned sour, hopefully, the same wont happen with Chris)

Yep Here was Chris............and he didn't have a clue who we were..........for a second or two. He asked if he could help with a bewildered look on his face until I explained who we were and why we were there. Then the penny dropped and he changed instantly! He couldn't have been more welcoming. He explained though that, as it was a Saturday night and it was a big eating place, he hadn't got a lot of time right then but, once the place had died dowm a bit (if it ever did) he'd come and have a chat. He did say that it was a nice change for people to turn up just to see the pub and not ask for anything. We'd only been there 5 minutes and I wouldn't dream of asking for free stuff! After I've spent all night and a fair bit of cash I might ask for a glass or something as a souvenir but not as soon as I walk in. Apparently some ask for freebies before they get there, cheeky feckers!!

       Anyway he asked the girl to get a couple of beers and handed them over saying to enjoy the night and he'd see us later. So, although we'd already got a pint, the barmaid turned up with two Brooklyn lagers, 5.1% and it was bloody lovely! I seem to remember we drank it all night. 

        So. we walked around the pub and had a good look but the place was absolutely packed with young people who were very loud and very boisterous. everyone seemed to be having a party. Which meant it was very awkward trying to take pictures and, sadly, in the end, we didn't get any decent ones of the inside of the building.

        There was absolutely not one seat to be had inside so we retreated to the patio, which was very large with lots of tables and chairs, but they were all occupied. We found a corner to stand in and spent the next hour and a half or so talking amongst ourselves and doing one of my favourite things, people watching. 

        Then a table became vacant and we rushed to get it at the same time as a couple made a beeline for it, and that's how we met Andy and Carol. They were a nice couple and were on their own. we thought this was the chance we were waiting for to get some local gossip about the pub!

Carol, Clint and Andy

        Wrong. They didn't live in Esher and were visiting friends or family and couldn't tell us anything about The Bear. It turned out though that Andy lived in London and one of his local watering holes is one of the pubs that we have yet to visit, The London Apprentice, Isleworth (just hope it's still open when we get to it) so, hopefully, we'll get to meet him and his good lady again.

        In all this time the beer had been flowing thick and fast and I, for one, was starting to slur my words a bit. And I'd got the munchies. I was starving. Can't remember how long it was since we'd eaten but the lack of food and the abundance of alcohol was having a very detrimental effect on my ability to think. And talk. And stand up straight. We had definitely spent too much time in the Albert.

        So, after a brief discussion we decided to get a chinese and call it a night. This was a shame because it meant that we didn't get a chance to talk to Chris, the manager. But I felt it was the right thing to do as I wasn't really capable of holding a serious conversation with anyone. I could talk bollocks, as we all can when we've had a fewl but that wasn't why we were there. I felt really bad about it afterwards, because Chris seemed genuinely interested once he realised who we were and why we were there and I hope we didn't offend him with our disappearing act, especially as he'd been so welcoming. We tried to find him to explain why we were leaving but the place was still bouncing and he was nowhere to be found. So we got our food took it back to the hotel and slept the sleep of the drunkard.

        Well, I think that's enough for now. As I said, sorry it's all me but if my son thinks I've missed something or remembered it wrong I'm sure he'll add a bit.

        More soon. Cheers!

If anyone's still listening?

Well, I suppose I owe you an explanation. We haven't written anything for over four years and we have 5 pubs to write about, plus, we haven't finished the write up about The Bear, Esher.

    This is partly because we got idle or complacent about keeping the blog up to date. We were still visiting pubs but were indisciplined about keeping up with the write ups.

    But the other part of it is that my darling wife was taken seriously ill in April 2018. So ill that I had to give up work to care for her. This meant that Ye Olde Innseekers got put on hold.

    Well, after four difficult years, in May of this year, my wife finally lost her battle and passed away. It's been a difficult time for both of us.

    But, life goes on, as they say, and we feel ready to take up the quest again. Hopefully, it will help us both, occupying our minds with something.

    So, over the next few weeks, I'm going to try and catch up with the blog and bring it up to date. Unfortunately, because the visits were 4 or 5 years ago, some of the details are a bit fuzzy, but I/we will do my/our best. I worded it like that because a lot of the blog will probably be written by me alone, because there is a lot to do and my son, Clint, is extremely busy with work and family commitments so can't always make the time to come here and do it. 

    Whereas, I have plenty of time, so it looks like the lions share will be down to me. I apologise, in advance, if this means it's not as entertaining as it might be ( my son thinks he's the funny one) but time is short as we hope to be visiting TWO pubs in the near future and I want to get as much done before then,

    That's all from me for now, more soon,

                                        Cheers

The Bear, Esher. Part 1

Well, here we go at last. Sorry it's been so long but had another hip replacement and had problems getting access to our blog (had to wipe my laptop cos it was running like a bag of shite and afterwards Blogger said I had no blogs??) Still, all sorted now (fingers crossed).

    So, It's been a while since our last trip and I just hope we can remember what happened. We set off mid-morning for the M42, M40 and M25. Wasn't really looking forward to the drive as all three motorways can be a nightmare, but we had a fairly trouble free journey which was made all the better by the numerous classic Minis we passed on the way. There were some really beautiful cars. 

    As we approached the bottom of the M40 we decided to stop at the services for some food. The only reason I mention this is that, near us, in the Midlands, the services are pretty bog standard with a MacDonalds and a Costa Coffee or a KFC and a Starbucks and not much else. But Beaconsfield? Hell! I could live there!!
    
     For anyone who hasn't been to a services round the capital, let me explain........It has a MacDonalds, KFC, Starbucks, M & S simply food, Greggs, Carvery Express, El Mexicana, Mint Leaves Indian Restaurant, Nandos, Patisserie Valerie (cakes), Francesca Ristorante, Chozen Noodle and a Wetherspoons!!!!! Happy Days! So we sat in the car park, filling our faces and watching a pair of red kites scare the shit out of every bird around.

I didn't notice the birds... I did notice the brand spanking Audi R8. The driver was a slim, 6 foot handsome bastard, with a tasty wife... probably had a small dick. 
Minis were great, otherwise, an uneventful journey to the hotel in the picturesque setting of Junction 10 of the M25. Cheap and cheerful is how we roll! I gotta say, I do love a good hotel. Me and the Mrs stopped in a 5 star gig in Amsterdam, It had a plasma in the bath! (not in the bathroom, actually built into the bath). It was well worth the money, but now with kids, and having to visit 40 places, £100 a night wasn't an option any more, so we book hotels as cheap as we can, and central Esher hotels were well expensive. As it turns out, our hotel was the wrong side of the motorway, so after we'd checked in, we went for a walk to see where we could cross the motorway and call a taxi to take us the rest of the way. We couldn't cross. With our tail between our legs, we went back to the hotel and asked the receptionist for a local taxi firm. The taxi turned up and we had to drive 5 miles back the way we came just to get across the pissing motorway. After an eternity, we arrived in central Esher. And we were charged £22! I suddenly had this feeling that this was going to be an expensive weekend. 
    Esher is very nice, but that's what money brings I suppose. and there appeared to be plenty of money. We took a little walk around to take in the sights. There wasn't a Poundland, Aldi, Lidl, or even a Tesco Express! How do these people survive? There were some art studios... Antiques shops... All the essentials. We stumbled upon Sandown Horse Racing.... Circuit? Track?

Course!

Cheers pops.... Maybe you should take over....

There weren't many run of the mill cars either. Lots of Jags, big Audis, Porsches and a couple of Lambos. Very affluent area. I just hoped I'd bought enough money! It didn't help when we passed a beer and wine shop advertising craft beers. I was just about to go in when I noticed a bottle of Champagne in the window for £355. So I gave it a miss.

Nice Church

With strange graves

They are called Hogsback graves and are probably pushing 1000 years old

    After the walk round (nice place with some very nice buildings) we decided it was time for some refreshment so called in The Albert Arms which has a nice rooftop terrace, perfect for a summers day like today. Unfortunately, there was a wedding reception and the terrace was closed to the public. Hey Ho! So we stood at the bar and ordered a couple of pints. £10. Could have been worse I suppose. So we stood there people watching and after about 10 minutes  Clint turned to me and said "Do you know, I don't think I could talk to anyone in here. Do you?" "Maybe one" I replied, "this guy sat behind me". He was almost my age and sat on his own at a high table with bar stools. So I went over and asked if he minded if I sat down. 

So.. There I was... Stood at this bar, Wearing my Star Wars T-shirt, and there was a lot of toffs in Eton style suits, A Michael Winner wannabe, with Donald Trump's Love Child screeching in her american drawl. To say I felt out of place was an understatement. I did not have a good feeling about this place at all, so I did the one thing I knew how...

I ran to Daddy.

Dad was talking to a normal bloke! We had literally found the last bastion of the working man in Esher. We chatted about Footy, work, and he told us about his adventures as a travelling salesman. We had to end it on an awkward note, as he was a Palace fan and the Mighty Foxes had just kicked there ass over the weekend, Oh well, Its the price of success I suppose. About this time I had to go water the horse and the conveniences were also upmarket.

Splashback to protect your shoes and troos

Dave said he'd moved into Esher in the last few weeks. He also said it was the worst mistake he'd ever made because, like us, he didn't think they were the kind of people he could mix with, which is why he was sat alone. He was glad he hadn't sold his old house cos he was gonna move back and rent out the one in Esher. This isn't to say they were bad people. Just not our kind of people. Maybe I'm too working class. Anyway we said farewell to Dave and headed to the main event, The Bear.

Anyway, that's all for now. More soon. Cheers!!

PS... If you look at and read this PLEASE PLEASE leave a comment, even if it's "What a load o' shite". Thanks

The Kings Head, Shrewsbury, Summary and Not Seeking this week...

Well, we proper fucked this week up...

As I type this, sat opposite the old man in our local, Ye Olde Cock in Cider (have a look here at  https://www.facebook.com/yeoldecockincider ), we are both off for a week, as we had made some grandiose plans to tour the south west of England, with the purpose of knocking off a few pubs on the list...

   But due to our impeccable ability to fuck up a good c.... anyway, lets just say, if you need a piss up in a brewery, don't ask me, Pops, or the national health to help organize it....  

Yeah, proper pissed off about what happened and how it happened, and I'm gonna whinge about it, but we really ought to finish off our bit about the Kings Head first. 

    We finished last time with the band wrapping up and the pub crowd thinning out. We'd had a reasonable night (even with my miserable fizzog) but hadn't really had the chat with the locals as we like to.

    While we'd still got a full pint and there were still people in, I went out the back for a fag and got talking to a lad in his early twenties. The conversation turned to why we were there and he was really interested, and he also new quite a bit of local history. So I took him back inside and introduced him to Clint.

I got a shaky selfie with the lead singer of The Endings, (I love meeting bands after gigs. Me and pops went to see a blues band in Notts, and the support group, a metal band, blew the fucking roof off! I went to say hello after they finished their set, only to find the lead singer was a gamer like me, {after he recognized my Videogame t-shirt} and he seemed genuinely impressed that we were happy with them) then  Dad appeared with some young lad in tow, and this lad proved to be quite the font on local knowledge....

"DAD!!! what did that lad tell us?" 

Buggered if I can remember! It had been a long day and we had a good chat but I don't recall him telling us anything we hadn't already heard, but it was nice to meet a young man who had a genuine interest in local history.

    Anyway, we also had another chat with the landlord and he was a bit more forthcoming this time, although, again, he didn't really tell us anything we didn't know. But it was a nice end to the night and I cheekily asked the landlord for a memento of the evening, and I talked him into giving me an optic bracket. Which sits behind me on the shelf of Ye Olde Cock in Cider with a bottle of (nearly empty) Jack Daniels in it. Happy Days!!

I remember now! He was a nice bloke.... And that's all I remember... (sorry random nice bloke in Shrewsbury) . Anyway, with Pete, Medieval Graffiti, Dinnertime Drunk Dad, Miserable "wanttoslaphismiserablechops" night-time Dad, foot-tapping bands, and random bouncy head-butting the ceiling Irish jig music fans, it was another stellar YOIS night out...

    Oh, something I do remember, random Shrewsbury nice guy told me that part of the 1980's version of Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol" was filmed in Shrewsbury, and arguably the most famous part of the story was when Ebeneezer visits his own grave, and the film crew got permission to engrave Ebeneezer Scrooges name into an unidentifiable gravestone in the churchyard of one of the many places of worship in Shrewsbury, that had lain there for decades and where it still resides to this day, and me not wanting to miss a photo op, went straight there the next day... 

The Prettier side of House Gardner posing by the Scrooge Grave

All in all, it was a good trip and we highly recommend Shrewsbury.

So, back to why I'm pissed off. Me and my son had planned to have a week away, taking in Somerset, Devon and Cornwall doing three pubs on our list. We'd booked the time off work and booked some of the accommodation. The rest was going to be camping.

   

    Two or three weeks before we were due to go (On the 27th of July) I had a letter from the hospital which said my hip replacement was going to be carried out on the 20th of July. I immediately rang Clint and told him I wouldn't be able to go on the trip. He suggested I cancel my op, but I said, if I'd gotta have three months off, I'd prefer to have the summer off than the autumn or winter.

    On the Monday morning I went to work and told the powers that be that I would be having my op in two weeks and all was good.

   Until the site manager said " You wanna check to see if you're entitled to sick pay"

   To cut a long story short, I'm not.

   Not until the middle of September. Cos I had three months off last year.

    So, I rang the hospital and cancelled the operation (I can't afford three months off on just statuary sick pay). I then rang my son, Clint, and said that I could go after all.

   He'd just got off the phone after cancelling the accommodation.

   Bollocks.

  Which is why we are sitting in Ye Olde Cock in Cider on a Tuesday night. Still, could be worse. We could be sat in the front room watching whatever shite is on the telly. 

   Couldn't we????

Right.... time for a beer.... Cheers!!!

The Kings Head, Shrewsbury, Part 3

So... We left it where Dad, Pete and I had been out for a few beers at dinner, then the inevitable beer munchies kicked in, and I wanted to head back and freshen up, so we arranged to meet Pete later, said our farewells and headed into the nearest Kebab house, Dad got his snap first and headed straight back to the hotel. I, on the other hand, was dealing with the most inept twat whoever had the misfortune to man a till, and for reasons I can't remember, was waiting for ages, and didn't leave the chippy for about half an hour after pops,..... and the food were shit...

I eventually got back, got fed, watered and scrubbed up. It'd been about an hour back at the hotel, and our next rendezvous with Pete at the Pub was fast approaching, time to fetch pops...

 I was fecking starving, So I ordered myself a double cheeseburger and cheesy chips. I dunno what Clint ordered but the muppet behind the counter screwed it up and, whatever it was, he had to bin it and start again. I'd got mine and it was going cold so I left him to it. The hotel was only  two minutes walk away so I hurried back, went up to my room, made myself comfy on the bed, put the telly on and set about my meal. Clint's right. It were shit! I reflected on the days events so far and thought about the coming evening, which I was really looking forward to. And a sense of well-being overcame me................

So, I splashed on the brut, Gave the Mrs and kids a kiss goodbye, and thought "I'll ring Pops, he can meet me in reception"

Ring, Ring..... Ring, Ring.... Ring, Ring....

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........

No answer... So time to bring out the big guns...

"come on kids, lets go and get Grandad up!"

I frog marched the kids down to his room, and knocked loudly, and the kids starting shouting for grandad, to the point people in adjacent rooms were checking to see what was going on, 

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz............

Took the kids back to our room, tried ringing again, no answer, so there was nothing else for it....

The receptionist was really helpful and understanding, and proceeded to phone the room phone for my Dad, for a good 5 minutes, during the wait, we were discussing the possibility of someone opening the door for me, (which they were not enthused about) but eventually...  It arose!

The phones ringing. Bollocks. Time for work. zzzzz Phones still ringing. Suppose I'd better get up. zzzzz BLOODY PHONE!! Then it suddenly dawned on me where I was. Grabbed the phone and it was the hotel receptionist. I mumbled something and got out of bed. Quick wash, brush my teeth and dressed in about 5 minutes. Then headed out to meet my very irate son. I was only an hour late.

Now, Obviously, being related, I have witnessed my Dad in the mornings, and regardless of soberness, time, weather, or any other factor, Dad is one miserable bastard in the mornings. But normally, that's fine, as I'm not a morning person, and I could sort of ignore his persistent grumpiness due to my own disdain for the first hours. Today, however, was different. I was up, been awake all day, full belly, and ready for a night out. my miserable git of a Dad on the other hand... not so much...

You see, I'm at an age where dinner-time drinking takes a toll and I wasn't now, as ready for a night out as my son was. I'm also at an age where I should've known better so I only have myself to blame. However, I wasn't "a miserable git" as my son so eloquently put it. Just wasn't really in the mood. But, Hey Ho! Off we went to the Kings Head to meet Pete..................if he was still there......

Pete was there, waiting patiently. We grabbed a pint and grabbed a table. The pub was really beginning to fill up. The majority of the dining area was now occupied by the evening entertainment, an Irish folk band called "The Endings" It was real good toe tapping stuff. I was really enjoying the band, and I reverted to my "go-to" state of people-watching, and soon discovered the audience was far more entertaining than the band. Its hard to talk to each other, let alone locals, when a 5 piece band is in full swing with violins and guitars not 5 foot away, so chat was at a minimum. However... Dad assumed his default position of "bulldog chewing a wasp" face. I couldn't get anything out of the old git. I tell you how miserable he looked... a complete stranger walked up to him and shouted "cheer up mate!" into his face...

Yeah, he did. Cheeky bastard! Nobody believes me but I was feeling okay. Not in a great drinking mood, but watching the band and thinking my own thoughts. I have to admit though, the dinner time session had spoiled it for me. The trouble is, I've got a miserable face. And I can't help that. That's just the way I look. And I've spent 60 years developing this face, so I'm not changing it for him or any bugger else!

Speaking of watching the band, we did have a lighter moment. There was a little fella who appeared to know all the bands songs and sang along and danced to every one of them. Well, when I say dance, what I really mean is pogo. He bounced up and down the front of the stage to every song, singing into the back end of the mikes and thoroughly enjoying himself. 

It wasn't until he twatted his head on a beam that I realised just how low the ceilings, and in particular the beams, were. The whole pub burst out laughing, even though he was obviously a local, and it got worse when, after rubbing his head, he stuck two fingers up at the ceiling.

Anyway, I wasn't particularly up for partying and was almost ready for calling it a night, The band had finished, but as it turned out, we weren't.... We had a bit of a surprise coming. but more on that next time.

Til then, Cheers

The "not miserable" half of YOIS selfie with the lead singer of The Endings