It is an old building built by peasants who had no money for dressed stone, so it was gathered from the surrounding fields, giving the building a unique look.  The walls are irregular with not one stone matching the other. Big, small, round, thin, long, all manner of stone, all jumbled together in no particular order.

With corners it was a different matter. With good, regular sized stone, all of which had dressed straight edges. It was a big stone on top of a smaller one all the way from top to bottom of the building.  They looked uniform compared to the chaos of the walls. The corners stood out strong and proud giving the building structure and substance.

The same care and attention had been taken around the heavy wooden door and two sash windows. It gave them a framed look that made you wonder what it would be like to be in the centre of that frame, looking out.  I knew because I was sitting the other side of that window sipping my beer along with the other inhabitants of the village.  With its lime-washed white walls and worn out floor boards it was as you would expect of the inside. Warm and homely with wooden tables, a long, narrow room with a bar at one end and a lovely old log-burning fire at the other.

Bang!

The heavy wooden door was allowed to shut of its own accord. I turned to look and said, “You're in the wrong pub mate”. He didn't belong here. It was a young looking lad trying to look cool, but it wasn't working.

His bleached long hair was in need of a haircut so he just pushed it to the side. He had on a tight, white tea shirt that was two sizes too small for him and it looked likely he would break pout of it any minute now. In contrast he had on black baggy jeans that were too big for him. Bright red leather shoes.

It was still cold outside and this boy was improperly dressed. In his round baby face his jaw was going up and down and his lips had turned ice blue.

He stood in the door surveying his surroundings thinking of what to do next. He turned towards me and said something but I could not understand. I think he is Scottish. I looked at him, raised my eyebrows, then turned my head to show him my ear.. But is was to no avail – he was off.

With a vacant stare he started making his way to the bar. It was obvious that he was pissed now because he was all over the place. With a thud each time a foot hit the floor and the swaying from side to side I thought he was going to fall over, but he made it, grabbing the bar for support as he got there.

Mike the barman was standing at the bar and was watching him too. Mike was once a body builder and you would be forgiven for thinking he still was. A big man with broad shoulders and tree trunks for legs and arms. He is a polite man but not all there. He is someone you don't want to mess with.

He looked at the lad and said, “ Sorry boy but I can't serve you, you'll have to leave.”

justin