Saturday 24th:
Another fairly early start, for me anyway. And another trip into town, but this time around proved a lot less fruitful and more annoying. I don’t think I actually bought any presents, mostly because I’d left the thinking part of my brain back in bed. But everything cheered up, except for the weather, when I met up with the other friend.
We wandered a little before taking up residence in my favourite pub. Sampling of ales commenced, and a little food; drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t a wise move, one that I should have learnt by now. Many interesting things were discussed including, but not limited to: whether fivesomes are better than threesomes (they are, it was decided – not that either of us know about those sorts of things!); my grand plan to become the world’s most annoying aunty/godparent, when those things happen; her homemade, and very precious gift to me, a Christmas soap – not to be used on sensitive areas like nipples due the high quantity of bits within the soap.
We moved on to other pub after a wee while, if only to stretch our legs. The streets were far less hazardous to negotiate by this time, we soon realised why upon entering The Fountain Inn, it seemed as though everyone was in here instead. A swift half each and we were out and on the move again. There then followed a dash to the next place as bladders were screaming that their needs hadn’t been looked after terribly well this afternoon.
I’d like to name the next pub we went to, as it’s a nice quietish place. (I like quietish public houses, restaurants, etc, not just because I’m rapidly turning into an old git, but because I’m deaf once the ambient noise of the place reaches a certain level. It’s quite a low level, sadly, which means I can’t join in with the conversation of my companions so I sit there not joining in, tempting being described as an unsociable old git.)
It’s about the only pub in Gloucester that has a pool table, which we didn’t get to use this time around. It’s also very old and historic (some connection to Oliver Cromwell, or something) and a proper freehouse Samuel Smith establishment. I’d gladly pass on the name of it, if I knew it. I’m not saying I’ve forgotten it in the drunken stupor that has been the last few days, as it’s not possible to forget something you never knew in the first place.
But, thank gawd for clear, sensible thinking and t’internet: I’ve found it! The Old Crown Inn. There’s no slightly interesting page to link to.
This Christmas Eve, it later transpired, was the best Christmas Eve I had in a long while, and somewhat better than the following day.
