There is a pub directly opposite my home, and in the three years I’ve lived here, I’ve never set foot in it. The one and only time I’ve crossed the threshold was on the day we came to view the house, and Mrs. AKA and I ducked in there for a quick drink to have a chat to discuss whether or not we should buy the house.
Until tonight. One of my homeboys has decamped from the ‘Hood to live up here as well, and we didn’t know where to go to for a drink. It was convenient and close, and it was raining, so we said “What the fuck?”
It’s great! A quiet little dive where you are left to your own devices whilst the divine fretwork of the indestructible Keith Richards shimmies over the opening seconds of the Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter, warming your insides whilst that first cold beer goes down nice and smooth.
And, with the new licensing laws in full effect here, you can sit and drink until the next day begins, heading out the door as the closing bars of Wild Horses filters through the tinny speakers.
Right now, I need to hit the shower before I bed down next to my wife and start working on my hangover. But I know I’ll be going there again. Wild Horses couldn’t drag me away.