I had been at our pub briefly for a quick word with the landlady and I was driving back down the rutted and pot holed lane, in driving rain, beyond the sole house along the lonely one mile stretch from the main road to the pub. Going back to the road, a half mile away up the steepest part of the lane and heading towards the pub, my headlights (the lane is unlit at this point) picked out a bedraggled figure plodding upwards. Nothing too unusual about that, except this geezer was on crutches.
Was it Stonch looking for a decent pint and overdoing his exercise. Alas no. This guy was better looking and taller, but it was odd all the same!
News, Nuggets & Longreads 19 August 2017: Breakfast, Blackness, Beer Festivals - Here’s everything in beer and pubs that grabbed our attention in the past week, from breakfast boozing to totalitarianism. For Vice Angus Harrison asked ...
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