Goodbye, old friend

I made a terrible mistake in my last post. An embarrassing omission which has shamed me in to making amends. I can’t believe I forgot to mention such a valued and faithful friend by name.

There for me when most needed, whether it’s after work on a Friday or a hungover Sunday morning; I’m always welcome.  Any time of the day (within reason).  And there’s never an expectation to spend a fortune.


Final (Irish) pint in an English pub the confusingly named London Inn (actually in Torquay)


The word alone moistens the lips in anticipation. Delicious ales (maximum freshness ensured by a constant customer base of miserly alcoholics), a decent selection of international bottles, artisanal spirits for the metrosexuals to mix with sugar-water,  excellent-value freezer food, and a distinct absence of music to distract friends by.

Some people claim to hate it. Those people are idiots and snobs and probably aren’t even psychologically addicted to alcohol and are therefore content to pay double for identical products in a ‘sophisticated’ environment. They probably don’t even know that spoons has a superfood salad on the menu. The bigots.

Genuinely, I will miss the place. The may be void of character (actually I’ve heard that each one has its own bespoke carpet with site-specific detailing but I can never look at them for long enough to discern the differences) but that’s their greatest asset. It’s a blank canvas for the communal imbibing of a ruinous drug!  Not a lifestyle choice, declaration of taste or reflection of personality.

It could be  a whitewashed shed for all I care.  Good enough beer, cheap salty food and a few mates and I’m happy in ‘spoons.


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