I know a pub....

I know a pub...

It sits in a hamlet off the beaten track, two miles from the nearest sizeable settlement which in turn is ten miles from anywhere that might reasonably be described as civilisation.

The public bar is rumoured to have a pool table and a jukebox, but I don't know of anyone who's ventured in that side since God was a boy.

The lounge is dark and dingy, there's little choice of beer. Wadworth's 6X, Stella (from a can) or Natch cider (from a bottle). There'll be a house red if the landlord hasn't already drunk it. Any of these will likely be served in glassware that would benefit from a second pass through the glass washer if indeed they have one.

They do not sell food. There is no jukebox, fruit machine, television or anything to suggest that the room has been altered in 100 years. There is a patina that could only have been created by so many smokers over that period of time.

It is quiet enough at lunchtime, maybe two or three folk will be in and occasionally the landlord will add his wisdom as he opens his second bottle of wine (he is educated, ancient and autocratic).

He opens at 7.30 in the evening and often as not the place is packed. Some folk will put their wellies on and walk 2 miles across open fields and a golf course, braving windy, wet November weather to get there.

Why does this place work?

Is it because people have to talk to each other for amusement because there are no distractions such as a telly?

Or is it because he has something that one rarely sees these days: an open log fire that burns at all hours in all seasons and weathers? Surely it's not because his "watch stops working" now and then?

S