Is there any finer place than a pub? Not just for drinking, or reading or soaking up the atmosphere by a process of contemplative osmosis : but for writing. So here's the plan. Take a pub, take a pint, take a set of 4" x 4" Post-It notes, and take a pen. And see what emerges. I am not sure where this is going - I only invented the game a couple of hours ago. This time the words are vaguely about the pub, next time they may be about ... well who knows!. The notes were as written in the Black Bull in Brighouse whilst supping a pint of Tetleys' bitter. In case you have trouble following my writing, I have added a transcription. Cheers.
"Town pub dating from a time when a town needed a pub for commercial travelers to stay, Oddfellows to meet, and smart young men about town to greet a lass and buy her an anticipatory port and lemon. Dates from a time when pubs were not measured in square-footish parcels. It is ample, like the legions of ample Aldermen it will have been home-from-home to. Ample like a town beadle : proud, embellished, showy, large than the life of this small Yorkshire town. Now it struggles with its Sky TV that will never quite fill its terraces, its lunchtime carvery which will never quite tempt the foodies, its stainless steel electric larger pumps which will never, ever, win the beer-heads. Poor, poor Brighouse : its Corporation was lost years ago, its newspaper is a sad shadow of its former self. Somebody please protect its Black Bull."