My next stop in Burton was a cosy
micropub on the main road into the town centre. The mainstream gang began to
catch us up, but three of us managed to crawl around a circular table in front
of the pub’s only window. It’s nice and cosy and there’s room enough to stow
our bags underneath and our coats on our chairs without being blown by cold air
every time someone walks through the door. Our camp is established, but from
there it’s a bit of a wrestle to the bar. The locals aren’t too keen that we’ve
invaded; but they’re too busy discussing their daily lives with the solo barman
who himself is trying to please all his visiting patrons. But they’re certainly
right in the pub’s name; all religious practices and democracy gets suspended whenever
the pub gets crowded. I toy with the idea of venturing further into the town;
but the cold weather and the appeal to return home overwhelms me.
No comments:
Post a Comment