Beer: Wychwood Hobgoblin 4.5%At 06:25pm the place is packed. The clientele is 90% male, in a 20-50 age group, local and loud (although there are a few from the offices next door, with their TUI lanyards – lads and lasses, early twenties… loud). It must seem boisterously convivial to the folk assembled, but I don’t recognise any of ‘em. I used to be borderline regular in this place… maybe the Friday night crowd differs from that of the comparatively laid back weekend afternoon locals. Anyway, it’s very early – and some folk in here are well into their cups.
Good luck to ‘em.
The one relatively quiet spot is in the dining area, where no one is dining. Instead, on a table at the back, a nuclear family are sat. As I make my way to a nearby vacant table, the bloke starts berating his missus.
Back at the bar, the barstaff all seem very young and very tattooed. The lad who served me can’t be twenty yet. His arms are covered in individual little tatts – the selection appears somewhat arbitrary, the fecklessly bored choices of a child.
What Steph and I call “the top table” in the pub is higher than the others, and routinely reserved for regulars. Again, I recognise nobody. Someone spills a pint of San Miguel all over it. Everyone cheers.
My Hobgoblin is alright, over chilled maybe. The ale selection this evening is pretty uninspiring. It’s this or the ubiquitous GKIPA.
Autumn is coming on, low evening sunlight streams into the pub; blinding some, and affording my glass an attractive light – which my dubious photography skills largely fail to capture.
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