You know, some people have a real knack for capturing what it is that makes pubs great.
That thought occured to us when we read this marvellous post by one of our favourite bloggers, Ten Inch Wheeler:
Now you’re in the Harp. First friday after payday. Five deep at the bar, shouting your conversation over your shoulder as you order. Two pints of Brewers Gold. First gulp. The best part of any nights beer. Fresh and hoppy. What happened to your hand? Fell off the roof. Lucky. Could have been brown bread.
A long afternoon in the Sheffield Tap. Tickers pass through, holidaymakers hit the Bernard before the Manchester Airport train, football fans with their team shirts threatening to poke out of tightly-buttoned jackets. Rowdy student rendevous. A couple’s last drinks dallied over, a whispered goodbye, a faint tear.
And we tend to think of Adrian Tierney-Jones as the pub world’s Poet Laureate.
By studying, capturing and communicating the pub’s elusive wonder, these writers walk in the footsteps of Orwell.