old before your time outChoosing your poison.

A brief reason for being

Whingeing from a recumbent position, and going to the pub. Two of life's great activities.

This blog is an amalgamation of them both, as I argue the case for and against various pubs around Britain. Whoopty-do.

The Crown. Is a nice.

Two rooms in a stone house up a muddy lane in a small village. The rooms are split by the central ‘lobby’ area to leave your sticks/brollies/smokers. Left: a few tables arranged around a central open fireplace. Right: split-level seating, barrels for tables and a small, busy bar. Behind the bar lie casks of ale and cider, along with a cheerful landlord and helpful bar staff. They also serve the food: great big beef sandwiches with proper aged beef, or a deeply warming bowl of stew with massive hunk of bread.

Rustic bliss, just near Weston. Fancy.

No adornments, no picture rail presentation plates, no added complications beyond the aforementioned good things. Happy, happy place.

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