This pub is where I wet the baby’s head for our first born, almost 17 years ago. It was a Sunday night and I went there with Terry and Ade. They were what you might call pre-enlightenment days where pubs had strict rules about opening and closing times and normally a pub would close at 10.30 on a Sunday.
One of the beauties about the Prince was that the door would get locked, the curtains drawn and drinking would carry on regardless even though it was bang in the middle of Tourist Lincoln. It was only visited by locals and no partygoers who would normally go to nightclubs down the hill so I guess the police turned a blind eye.
In those days it was a proper pub. It’s been renovated now and completley changed (spoiled many would say). That’s progress for you.
Anyway the story goes that I ran out of money towards the end of the night. The landlady Laura refused to cash me a cheque but was perfectly happy to lend me a tenner to keep the session going. I used to play rugby with landlord Wayne.
A tenner wouldn’t go very far today but 17 years ago it was enough to fuel the hangover I had during the hospital visit the next morning.