Too tired to drive home, I stayed in my digs. So I decided to go for a pint. This is a very unsual thing these days as I found a while ago that drink and depression go hand in hand.
But once in a while I can cope with it and as I had nothing in the house to eat, I decided a pint or two and something to eat was the order of the night.
The first pub was on the square in the centre of the town. I've been told by lots of people its a great pub. Well - at 8pm last night, it wasn't. It was all but empty and the few people who were there obviously had several hours start on my drinking plans. That said, they weren't a problem, I took my Burton Bitter to a table at the window, leafed through a copy of The Times that had been left on the chair and swapped a few texts with birthday girl.
The beer wasn't good. Burton Bitter isn't a beer I'd usually chose, but I was hungry, and out of shape, beer drinking wise, and thought a lower alcohol choice would be smartest. It was cloudier than it should have been, thinner than I like (but thats the lower alcohol for you) and edging towards sour.
I then took a nice walk across town to another pub that had been recomended. I was tempted to turn away at the last moment to one I know sells Timothy Taylor's Landlord (my favourite) but I decided I was in the mood for new things... so I carried on.
The Kings Head has some sort of military connection which means it is decorated with medals pictures and even a pair of Lee Enfield rifles on one wall. There was an "open mic" night in the offing and I was thinking I might stay, but the Ringwood Best Bitter certainly wasn't up to its best. Also, the guy setting up the "Open Microphone" came over and sat down at my table. He seemed very drunk in that way of habitual drunks - not incapable, just befuddled. He engaged me in a conversation which he seemed to have no intention of honouring his side of and I felt like I was being chatted up in some odd way. I didn't like that, not because I object to being chatted up by anyone, my type or not, but because it seemed like "you'll do" was his motivation. His habit of refering to everyone as "Old Chap" was annoying too... I'm getting picky in my old age. I finished my, rather poor, pint, made my excuses and left.
I decided to go into the local Wetherspoons on the way home, but as I walked through the centre of town there was a big group of very lairy, 40ish blokes in front of me, heading in the same direction. They'd have been intimidating at 20, but at 40 you'd have thought they'd have grown out of laddish loutishness. I just got the feeling that one of them would be smacking the crap out of an innocent someone much smaller than themselves later that night. They turned into the pub I was aiming for, I carried on and decided to buy a curry to eat at home.
I had another beer waiting for the curry - and now know that I cannot in anyway hold my ale like I used to. I was decidedly tipsy when I got in. The curry was good, though unusually the bread wasn't as good as it has been every other time I've eaten there. The spinach side dish I ordered on a whim was outstanding though.
Now, maybe its the curry... or maybe it was the cloudy beer... but I didn't dare drive home this morning. There wasn't a loo in the car.
TMI - I know. All ok now.
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