I was close to staying in last night rather than making that first tentative step to going to what is my nearest local public house.
It had been a busy day around the house including a rare foray into the far corners of my own loft space, well, after all I go into other people's roof voids every day seeking problems so my own does not have the same appeal if it is just for storage.
We had family around, all women, and so us menfolk were required to make ourselves scarce whilst things were discussed but more specifically multiple woollen pom-poms made. Youngest daughter, in her early 20's is aiming to produce 100 plus as her contribution to Christmas decorations at a city theatre.
There were 60 made by the four piece workers in a very short period from late afternoon to tea time using what I can only describe as fiendishly cunning bits of technology cutting many minutes from the traditional pom pom method of two circles cut out of cardboard.
The living room soon became covered with stray strands of fluffy, glitter speckled wool on the floor, furniture and up the stairs to the bathroom. The latter being a consequence of plentiful cups of tea to assuage the dehydration associated with frantic wool winding.
Earlier in the week I had been chatting with a neighbour on all manner of neighbourhood issues when I mentioned the nearest pub. He actually knew it quite well from periodic visits and liked it as it had atmosphere, good beer and interesting local characters for entertainment. I think we sort of agreed to going there on a non specific timescale although 8pm on the coming saturday was a possibility.
At ten minutes to eight on the allotted day I was the only male in the house who seemed at all bothered about a trip to the pub. I had even had a wash and changed out of my housework clothes.
The other two feigned tiredness and disinterest although secretly, I suspected, were enjoying rare invisibility such was the concentration of the wool crafting ladies.
I was by now trying to invent an excuse not to venture out. The words "I'm not going on my own" came forth in the tone of a petulant child. Apart from the blur of working hands there was no other movement or reaction to my statement. I know, I thought, if it is raining then I could legitimately claim sanctuary under some or other adverse weather clause.
As I popped my head out of the front door who should be walking past, hunched up in his cagoule, but my neighbour.
It was a complete coincidence of timing but enough to persuade me that the pub was on. I shouted up the stairs to the industrial workshop that I was going out. I took the deafening silence as acceptance of my intention.
The walk through the Park gateway and up the main road was unpleasantly wet with large pools and puddles and the occasional pavement wash from a passing vehicle, intentional or not to catch out a pedestrian. It was a short walk and within a few minutes me and my neighbour were in the Lounge Bar.
As pubs go it was finely traditional and in an authentic way rather than following the trend of false ageing using a selection of antiquities sourced from a large corporate warehouse.
For a saturday night it was not that busy although a small huddle of inebriated men made up for that with loud and crude language before stumbling out to a waiting taxi pointing in the direction of the city centre. That left a handful of drinkers just sat quietly on the red buttoned leather upholstery with elbows on dark wood tables staring into their glasses.
The bar, a stubby 'L' shape had a good selection of hand drawn ales and a week long Beer Festival promotion with guest tipples from Real Ale and Micro Brewery producers. I was not sure how much a pint cost as I had not bought one for some years in my self imposed exile. £3 a pint did not seem too extortionate and I went for a Nottingham Dark Ale seeking reassurance in having been a student in that city where I had drunk more than my fair share of Mild and Stout dark ales.
Previous conversations with my neighbour have been conducted out of doors usually as I have returned from work and he, recently retired, has just got back after a long cycle ride. Bikes is something we have in common and all things cycling make for a good ice breaker in any company. I do have to hide obvious envy at the very impressive array of bikes in his garage and his new found leisure time which I find increasingly scarce under my current workload.
The beer and friendly ambience in the pub put us both ease. We chatted giving a potted version of our life stories interspersed with cycling experiences and time flew by. 11pm suddenly loomed prompting the first embarrassing silence of the evening. It was a sign that we had completed the first of our indoor conversations.
The pub scored well in my reckoning. No hassle, no loud music, enough of a view of a big screen TV to keep in touch with world news and a good selection of potato chips.
It had been a good experience and if the pom pom production line continues to roll on I may well find myself back there next saturday.
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