Just one more

A pub clock.

It can be bloody difficult to leave a good pub.

You go in with the inten­tion of hav­ing a quick half, seri­ous­ly, just the one, or per­haps just a cou­ple, and you leave hours lat­er with the hang­over already at your heels.

It’s not always the plea­sure of the beer itself – let’s be hon­est, does the fourth pint in a ses­sion ever taste even remote­ly as sat­is­fy­ing as the first? – but the par­tic­u­lar jux­ta­po­si­tion of com­pa­ny and sit­u­a­tion.

On Fri­day, we stayed out lat­er than intend­ed because we were enjoy­ing each other’s com­pa­ny, not dis­tract­ed by TVs or errands, sort­ing out Brex­it and the envi­ron­ment and debat­ing why some Bris­tol pubs work and some don’t.

On Sat­ur­day, we stayed lat­er than intend­ed in the pub because we were enjoy­ing the com­pa­ny of Ray’s par­ents, euchre cards and fam­i­ly sto­ries fly­ing.

On Sun­day, we stayed lat­er than intend­ed in the pub because two Tex­ans came to say hel­lo at The Drap­ers and the Drap­ers insist­ed on being its idyl­lic best, all warm con­ver­sa­tion and hand­shakes with strangers.

And we knew when we did get up and go, chased out of the pub after time at the bar and the appear­ance of the bleach buck­et, that we were leav­ing the week­end behind, with all its promise and space to breathe.

One thought on “Just one more”

  1. Hap­py Days! That’s what being in love with pubs is all about. A com­bo of atmo, beers and com­pa­ny.

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