Home!

No real rush to get to the airport again. Our flight isn’t until five in the afternoon.

How do I start the day? With a bacon sarnie, of course. The perfect way to start any day. Accompanied by some of Dave’s super-strength tea.

When Alexei has come down, we have a walk down Main Street to get a Radio Times for Dolores. It’s pretty quiet. On the way we wonder at how many houses they’ve managed to cram onto what was the car park of the former Turks Head. Now a vets.

Around 11:30 Henry rolls up to collect the empty firkin.

After a while he says: “I’d best get off home now. Unless you fancy a quick pint, Ron?”

I’m putting on my coat before he’s even finished the sentence.

We arrive at Oscar’s five minutes before opening time and have to rattle our change for a while. Until we hear the door being unbolted. We aren’t the only ones waiting.

When I lived in the East End in the 1970s, people would be hanging around outside the pubs 15 minutes before opening time on a Sunday lunchtime. Including me. No-one wanted to miss a minute of those precious two hours of drinking.

I get a Jaipur, Henry a Landlord. The Jaipur is full of bittery goodness.

We seat ourselves and chat for a while. It’s good to have a chance to talk with Henry about possible new beers.

“I’d like to do an old-fashioned Bitter. 3..8% or so.”

“It would have to be post-war, then.”

“Something like Boddies.”

“I’ve got their recipes. And Lees. Maybe one of theirs would be good.”

We have a second pint and then it’s back to Dave’s. The back way past the crammed-in new estates. What a horrible place to live.

The rest are halfway through lunch when I get back. Dave’s made jerk chicken, accompanied by fish shop chips. He wisely only bought a small bag. There are still a few left over.

The kids have a few cans of Carling and Strongbow left.

“You can stick them in my check in bag.”

“Put them in a ziplock bag first.” Alexei says helpfully.

“No need for that. They’ll be fine just in the bag.”

Our taxi turns up on the dot at three. It takes about an hour to get to Humberside. Our driver has some interesting tales to tell about his time living in Asia. Some pretty scary.

It’s all very relaxed at the airport. It is, after all, tiny. Pretty sure the smallest I’ve been to. Even smaller than Gibraltar. In a few minutes we’re deciding what drinks we want from the bar.

“Is there a Spoons, Dad?” Alexei asks hopefully.

“No such luck, Lexxie. There is a bar though.”

I can’t look at his sad little face.

“The only draught is Guinness.”

Swallowing his tears, he comes with me to take a look at the bottled beers. He opts for Beck’s. As does Andrew. Whisky for me, dear boy.

We don’t have a very long wait. The plane is parked right outside meaning there’s not much of a walk either.

Not much to report about the flight, It’s up and then straightaway down again. Except.

About five minutes before we land a stewardess has to tell a passenger three rows in front of us to stop vaping.

“Sir, you have to stop smoking.”

“I’m not smoking, I’m vaping.”

“You can’t vape, either.”

She’s very reasonable, considering. Considering what a twat he’s being. I’d have thrown the fucker out of the emergency exit he was sitting next to.

We arrive at Gate D9999. It’s quite a walk to passport control. Which is, fortunately, pretty deserted.

My bag is on the belt when we get to the carousel. In the middle of a wet patch. Fuck. It smells of beer. I gingerly open the bag. The Radio Times on the top is soaked through. Fuck, fuck, fuck. One of the cans has leaked.

“I told you we should put them in a ziplock bag.”

“Thanks for reminding me of that.”

Luckily, most of the contents are still dry. The Radio Times seem to have soaked up all the excess liquid. We dump the broken can and head for the taxi rank.
 
Dolores has tea waiting for us when we get home.



Oscar's Inn
105 Balderton Gate,
Newark NG24 1RY.
https://www.oscarsinn.co.uk/