As I walked out to the Morning Star
The Cathedral cast its mark,
Its lowering shadows enveloped the pub
And the sky grew unusually dark.
The Church, the beacon, was not yet lit
Too soon to call it night,
Though its luminous power would later shine forth
By the trick of electric light.
I was stood at the bar of the Morning Star, not chatting to the barman. It’s one of the great things about popping into a local pub for a swift one. Sometimes you chat with the barman, sometimes with whoever else is standing there and sometimes you don’t.
I am very comfortable with just being there sipping a beer, saying nothing, watching, listening and quietly taking it all in. Saturday afternoons are especially good, before the ”early doors” rush. It isn’t very good for the pub trade I’m sure to not have many punters but as a form of relaxation it is nice to just stand there not talking.
This wasn’t a Saturday afternoon. It must have been a Wednesday because other than the weekend I really only get there before picking up from Cubs and then for a very swift one. I was at the bar in my usual place, near the door, when in walked some men.
There were six of them, aged in their thirties, forties and fifties. Three were British and three seemed to be Eastern European. The locals were clearly entertaining the visitors. One of them asked for a tab at the bar.
The hosts began recommending specific beers. The visitors didn’t understand the concept of a bitter or an ale and certainly did not recognize much of what was on offer. The conversation seemed fairly stunted as the vocabulary of the guests sounded limited. They wandered off into a corner of the pub to conduct the business of their evening. I thought it was likely to be a strange sort of night out due to the problem of communication.
I finished my pint and left to go to and pick up the kids. I hope their business went well.
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