Three people walk into a bar … and if they’re anything like me, immediately regret the decision. Bars do tend to have people in them, understandable, but often off-putting to introverts like myself. There’s only one bar (or pub in this case, because I’m English) that I’ve ever felt comfortable in and that’s because it’s owned by one of my aunts.
I wouldn’t call it modern, comfortable or even very welcoming. It’s in a small village that doesn’t get many visitors and so isn’t often busy and means I can hide in a corner with a notebook and no one will bother me.
That will all change soon, however, due to my cousin taking it over. He and his wife have big plans. Ones involving wallpaper, furniture from Glasswells and fairy lights drapped over needlessly ornate mirrors. They want atmosphere. They want a lunch menu.
What they don’t want are shadowy corners for people like me to hide in. Most inconsiderate but again, understandable.
Although I know the place could do with a new lease of life, and that it will become, in turn, a far more successful business; I cannot help but feel a little sorry for the old worn bar, stools and light fixtures. There is history in them all, even if it’s not overly interesting.
I don’t look forward to writing in front of a backdrop illuminated by multicoloured bulbs meant for a Christmas tree, but at least I’ll still get a discount.